Changing Dynamics
by Morbid-Misanthropist
Summary: He knew what he was; a billionaire with an inflated ego and more money than sense. He was nothing like the Iron Man suit- we was weak, an insomniac, and haunted frequently by anxiety attacks. Can Stark overcome his personal obstacles and finally learn how to play well with others?
1. Chapter 1

**There may be some minor spoilers for those of you that haven't seen Iron Man 3 yet, so read at your own risk.**

**Summary: **Tony struggles adjusting to being part of a team, hardly thrilled when Steve announces his plan for the Avengers to take part in a series of team building exercises. Through the seclusion, the insomnia, and the haunting nightmares, can Stark finally learn how to play well with others?

**Note:** Since I'm English, there may be some variations in spelling- the spell check on my computer automatically corrects my writing to the American English, so there may be a bit of a blend- that was unintentional.

**Authors Note: **Depending on how well this is received will depend on whether I continue or not- I have many more chapters planned. This is the first time I've written anything based on the Avengers, so I hope I did it some justice.

* * *

It was amidst the early hours of a Thursday morning that Tony Stark found himself sifting through a tangle of wires and various coloured cables, cursing occasionally and prodding at the dismantled pieces of the iron man suit that lay sprawled across the sturdy bench in the cluttered workshop.

Beneath its painted exterior of flamboyant red and shimmering gold, the suit was a series of so many components and materials, a far cry from the Mark I, which had been produced by nothing more than a cave full of second hand scraps. Stark could still remember the feeling of accomplishment and pride that had surged through his system after building the first model of the suit, no matter how unfinished and so shamelessly flawed that it was- _had_ been. A large impractical metallic exterior, several flamethrowers and brief flight capabilities, it had been just enough to get the job done, enough to free him from the cluttered confines of that dingy cave and its depressing aura.

A distinctive weight remained heavy upon his chest, and it had never quite vanished entirely, even now his days with Yinsen were long behind him.

A few years later and numerous nights of abandoned attempts at succumbing to sleep, Stark had managed to improve the suit model after model; it was a constant cycle of fixing, adjusting, removing, modifying and recreating. He was always looking for the flaws and ways to remove them, and once he'd solved one problem, he'd immediately look for the next, seeking to improve each and every piece until he was satisfied.

That was the problem with Tony Stark.

He wouldn't be satisfied until he'd reached perfection- absolute perfection.

During his latest bout of insomnia riddled nights, Stark was attempting to find a solution to what he called the deep space problem; the suit was unable to sustain any form of function when it was exposed to the atmosphere in space, rendering it useless beyond planet earth, and he'd found out the hard way, traveling through an open portal to a foreign dimension. Of course, when Tony had been preoccupied hauling a nuke through space, he'd been all too aware of the potential consequences. He'd known that the suit couldn't function on the other side of the portal, even as he'd made his way through the gaping hole in the sky, his thrusters carrying him higher and higher until eventually he had lost sight of the familiar city below.

He still remembered watching the missile destroy the Chitauri ship, exploding in a fiery array of angry flames, feeling the unpleasant heat radiating from the explosion even through the barrier of the suit.

He remembers how his heart almost seemed to still in his chest the very moment that the power had cut.

He remembers closing his eyes, preparing to slip into the best night's sleep that he'd ever had in his entire life; and then- then he'd found himself being thrust back into consciousness by the audible roar of Hulk.

He remembers thinking that it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard in his life.

He prepared to dissemble the hip mounted flare launchers, clearing a space upon the bench to make room for the delicate process of exposing what lay beneath the suits lovely paint job.

"Dummy, pass me that screwdriver," he commanded, and the machine chirped in response, returning only seconds later, prodding Stark gently in the back with a large tool, almost like a canine anticipating a game of a fetch with its owner. The brunette reached blindly behind him with a wondering hand, only to pause when he grasped an item with his fingers that was cold, heavy, and almost certainly _not_ a screwdriver. "That is in fact a wrench," he declared bluntly, handing it to Butterfingers who tossed it aside recklessly, where it landed with a heavy clang on the floor. The bot lowered its robotic arm almost instinctively with an audible whirr, almost as if in embarrassment before returning to the tool box in search of the correct piece of equipment.

"_Sir, it appears that Miss Potts is on her way down-"_

"Little busy here Jarvis-"

"_I thought it would be best to warn you Sir that she appears to be in a rather irritable mood, which may have something to do with your absence from the board meeting this afternoon."_

"Knew I'd forgotten something," he muttered, fumbling with the safety glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, adjusting them so they rested on the top of his head of tousled brown hair.

A familiar figure descended the stairs towards the shop, approaching the clear glass in a dignified manner, raising her right hand and fumbling with the keypad which caused the doors to open immediately. Heeled footsteps approached the bench and its occupant, a pair of sharp eyes scanning the various innards of the suit that lay across the surface of the bench, like an engineer's jigsaw.

Tony averted his attention back to the bot chirping from across the room, which was rummaging noisily through the tool box whilst You and Dummy weaved in and out of the various hazards located across the workshop, which happened to consist of various canisters, dangerous machinery, benches bolted with vices, and a cluttered table top that was concealed by a large blue print, the large paper kept spread eagled across the surface by an empty Stark mug and several items from the open tool box.

"I said _screwdriver_ dammit!"

"Tony-"

"Hey sweetie, how was your day- no, the other one Dummy. I said the _other_ one-"

"It was wonderful, thank you for asking. I spent the entire afternoon trying to explain to the board why you missed yet _another_ meeting, and then when I finally got off the phone after almost an hour, I had to move forward the deadline for the paperwork that you was supposed to complete five days ago."

"Must have missed the memo for that one," he said, mumbling around the pencil perched between his teeth. "And those papers, yeah, I'm totally on it. I was actually going to do them this morning, but then I found this problem with the drone-slicing super laser, so I had to postpone it for later…"

"And I suppose that you'll finish them when you finally get around to submitting those plans for the expo-" Before she could continue, there was another clang that sounded from across the shop, where Dummy was apparently busy causing chaos, knocking into the shelves that were fixed to the wall on large brackets, causing several things to fall and shatter clumsily.

Stark frowned at the sight of a familiar tool in the bot's claw, and the machine 'stared' back at its creator, quirking its mechanical arm inquisitively. "Isn't that the same one you're holding? There's only two in there, how hard can it be-"

"TONY!"

Tony visibly flinched, releasing the pencil grasped in his right hand and allowing it to fall to the floor with a faint clatter, rolling away and disappearing beneath the bench. He recognised that tone, sharp enough to make his toes curl in nervous anticipation. If there was one thing that the philanthropist knew about Pepper Potts, it was the fact that she wasn't afraid to give him a piece of her mind, even if he was Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

Not even the suit could protect him from those eyes, those brilliant blue eyes that were currently narrowed in disapproval.

The CEO kept her distance, lingering like a shadow in the darkness. She stood with her arms folded in a stern manner, looking beautifully magnificent in her smart working attire, which that day happened to be a white shirt and a complimenting skirt, copper hair tied into a neat pony tail to reveal a crystal stud in each ear lobe. He watched and he stared, acknowledging the fact that as always his gorgeous girlfriend had managed to leave a remarkable impression upon him once more. There were not many things that could reduce an eccentric man like Stark into complete silence- one of those things happened to be Pepper Potts.

Whenever she entered the room, suddenly he felt like a giddy teenager all over again, unable to form a coherent sentence, struggling with words that seemed to tangle in his mouth like thread, as if he were beginning to malfunction.

All it took was a single glance into those mesmerising blue eyes to make him feel weak at the knees…

When he looked at gorgeous and wonderful Pepper, he felt an array of emotions stir within his shrapnel embedded heart; love, respect, infatuation, and guilt.

Pepper gazed into those large brown eyes, trying desperately not to feel deterred by the apologetic expression marring that handsome face. Sometimes, it felt as if she were scolding a child. Despite his intriguingly mixed reputation, there was still a questionable innocence about him when he was getting carried away in the workshop, like a little boy playing happily with his toys.

Sometimes she truly wondered if this was what it felt like to be a mother, watching over her child and teaching him to learn from his mistakes, reminding him to eat properly and attend school (or in Tony's case, his meetings).

"You have responsibilities Tony," she reminded him abruptly, maintaining direct eye contact somewhat forcefully. "I can't run this company on my own, I need _your_ contribution. This is supposed to be Stark Industries. You don't like it when I remind you that you have commitments, I get that, I really do, but -"

"I got carried away," he confessed, "I'll admit that, but since when was this company suddenly unable to function without me? I thought it didn't matter what I wanted anyway."

"Don't be ridiculous," Pepper responded quickly, brows furrowed slightly in frustration.

"Remember that time that I suggested we stop killing people with our weapons? The board made it very clear that they didn't care what I wanted. I don't see why now it should be any different; we both know that they didn't want me at any stupid meeting anyway!"

"We all have to do things that we don't like Tony, although there always seems to be an exception with you. Whether I like it or not I have to run this company, while you're busy playing with your toys or out saving the world-"

"They're _not_ toys," he insisted, "and this isn't playtime Pepper, this is my life, trying to do the right thing for once. Yet no matter what I do or how hard I try, it's never good enough, not for anyone! You know what, why don't we just go back to blowing things up? I'm sure that will satisfy everyone, everything going back to the way it used to be."

"You know what? Forget it. We'll have this conversation another time, when you feel like accepting some responsibility."

Stark gazed once more into those tantalising eyes, feeling his heart sink at the wounded expression upon her face. He recognised this feeling; it was like someone sinking a fist into his chest and squeezing his heart.

It felt like an open wound that stung tenderly, or an old scar that ached and throbbed in the cold.

It was guilt.

He realised in distress that once again he'd been selfish as always, utterly incapable of saying the right thing. He seemed to only be capable of screwing things up, like the reckless idiot that he was.

He knew what he was; a billionaire with an inflated ego and more money than sense. He was nothing like Iron Man, the courageous superhero that was strong and respected.

Everyone loved Iron Man, but no one liked Tony Stark.

"I'm sorry," he said honestly, knowing that it was going to take more than measly words to bail him out of this one. His heart wrenched as he watched her linger in the doorway, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the staircase in front of her, unable to conceal the disappointment that remained all too visible in her tense posture. This woman was the best thing that had ever happened to him; he loved her dearly, although he knew that he had a funny way of showing it. He wondered if she knew just how much that he loved her- with all of his heart, or at least what was left of it, shrapnel and all.

"I know," she replied sadly, "you always are."

The billionaire ran a hand through his tousled hair, ignoring the irritating blur that began to tinge his usually pristine vision. He sincerely hoped that it was weariness haunting him and not tears.

* * *

A fortnight later, Stark found himself in the usual haven of his workshop, sat at his large desk and staring blankly at the three screens situated in front of him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to distinguish one word from another, the various diagrams and statistics merging together with a hideous blur, illiterate to his hazel eyes.

He clutched a warm mug in his right hand, a steaming coffee that had been concocted by You, who always enjoyed making a mess in the kitchen. He raised it to his lips and took a mouthful of the fragrant substance, acknowledging almost instantly that it just wasn't strong enough to rouse his sluggish senses. After a few more sips, he drained the remaining contents, placing the empty white mug on the desk with an audible thud; he rested his head in his hands and released an audible groan, cursing his body's apparent and sudden inability to function.

He was tired, yet as always he just couldn't sleep, didn't want to surrender to it, fighting it with everything he had until his efforts became a lost cause.

It was always the same story.

Like an abused vehicle, Tony kept on going until he ran out of juice, literally unable to function like a ratty old car abandoned on the road side that was ready to be towed away to the scrap yard.

In the end, he always preferred the exhaustion to the nightmares.

Sometimes he'd dream of Afghanistan, reliving the very worst days as if he was experiencing them for the first time. He could still feel the heat drain the energy from his body, rendering him sluggish and struggling to function in the sultry climate; he could still feel his abused body ache in protest against the constant demand to work, pleading for the respite that it so desperately needed to function.

It was almost alarming how his senses could be deceived by a mere dream, convincing his brain that he was still there, stranded in the dingy cave with only Yinsen for company. He could still feel the rough walls beneath his fingertips, the hard floor beneath his feet and perspiration caused by the challenging heat, his shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. On the worst nights he could still feel the tender aftermath of the surgery, the nausea lurking in the pit of his stomach that seemed to churn uncontrollably as he became aware of the foreign object in his chest- this alien thing that just _didn't belong there_ at all.

If he wasn't being tortured and yelled at in a foreign language, he was going head first through the portal again, watching the missile explode in the distance and light up the dark sky like an enormous firework whilst he prepared to close his eyes for the final time.

Occasionally he'd dream of his childhood and his absent father, stirring up memories of the past that he thought he'd euthanized a long time ago.

Tony Stark wished that there was something that could erase the memories, wished that he could wipe the slate clean as easily as he could delete a file from the database on his computer. He wished it could be that easy. He wished that there was something that could make it all disappear, but in reality he knew that there was not a pill on the planet that could help him forget. The drink did little to soothe anything at all; if he was lucky, it took the edge off of things slightly, but never anything more. Talking about it was out of the question because it would only make him remember more, making him relive everything all over again, and he didn't want that _at all_.

Stark gazed distantly at the Iron Man suits that were lined neatly against the wall, wondering what everyone would say if they knew that he could be so easily stirred by some silly dreams, like a child afraid of the invisible monster lurking at the back of the closet.

He wished that the suit could protect him from more than just physical threats.

Suddenly, a familiar British accented voice interjected the brunette from his unnerving thoughts, causing him to startle slightly in his seat. _"You have an incoming call from a withheld number Sir,"_ Jarvis announced obediently.

"Trace it," Stark replied, supressing an exhausted yawn and lounging back in his chair lazily, tapping his fingers in a repetitive fashion on the hard wood of his desk.

"_As you wish Sir."_

Within a few moments, a map appeared on one of the broad screens and the AI began to display a series of coordinates and a detailed satellite image, causing Tony to elevate a brow in question. "_The call has been traced Manhattan, New York City, the Stark Tower Complex, precisely the thirty sixth floor on the eastern side of the building, which I believe is the floor belonging to Mr Rogers Sir-_"

"What do you want Cap?" Tony asked bluntly as he answered the call, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the blonde's surprised tone of response. "And more importantly, why are you calling me on a withheld number?"

"_A what?"_

"It's- never mind."

"_I don't know anything about any numbers; this phone was issued to me by S.H.I.E.L.D."_

"There are phones on every floor Cap-"

"_I'm aware of that Stark," _Rogers replied in his usual well-spoken telephone manner, _"but that's hardly relevant-"_

"Ah, I get it," Tony said, lips curling into an amused smile, "they're probably a bit too high tech for you. Did they issue you one of those old ones with the enormous _keypad_? I mean, who uses those anymore anyway? Everything's all touch screen now-"

"_Stark-"_

"Don't worry grandpa, there's no need to be embarrassed about it."

"_Stark-"_

"We all have weaknesses-"

Tony managed a small smile when the line was severed with an audible click, knowing almost instinctively that the man was probably heading straight to the gym to beat the living daylights out of another poor and defenceless punching bag. He wondered dryly what Captain America thought of when he was pounding the bag with his bare fists- probably selfish assholes like him, Tony Stark.

It was no secret that he and Rogers hadn't gotten off on a good start, and as usual, Tony and his big mouth was responsible for widening the apparent rift between them, because he could never seem to engage his filter when he was talking to other people. At times it truly seemed like his mouth was beyond his control, as if it belonged to somebody else entirely.

The truth was, despite being a philanthropist in nature, the brunette was never good with words beyond the technicality uttered between the four walls of his lab. He used his big mouth to try and protect himself without the suit, like a big façade; truthfully Tony was quite sensitive and embarrassingly insecure. His sharp tongue made him appear cocky and confident, a man that didn't care a single ounce what people thought of him; he cared what people thought, he really did, he just didn't allow himself to be dominated by it.

He contemplated apologising, quickly deciding against it and surrendering to his stubborn nature, wanting to avoid significantly eroding a fraction of his pride.

There it was again, that same feeling he had when Pepper gazed at him with _those_ eyes. Guilt- he was riddled with it, like a rotten floorboard with woodworm.

Tony claimed that he didn't play well with others, and perhaps this assumption was partially true; when he wasn't collecting awards, shocking the media or out saving the world, Stark was busy in the personal haven that was his workshop, isolated from the rest of humanity and exposed only to the company of Jarvis and the bot's- just the way he liked it. Unlike the rest of society, his unconventional AI family were unfazed by his eccentric behaviour, because for them it was normality, just a normal day in the shop with the genius insomniac.

Perhaps he'd grown too accustomed to allowing his big mouth to take full reign without attempting to intervene.

For a man who was applauded for his intelligence, Tony knew that he could be an idiot sometimes.

He made mistakes and sometimes hurt people in the process, but he was only human. People made mistakes and then they learned from them, with the exception of Stark it seemed.

No matter how many times he said the wrong thing, he never managed to restrain his 'inner jerk', which tended to surface when he was in the company of other people, nice people that didn't deserve to deal with his narcissistic personality.

It didn't take long for another call to come through, only this time it was accompanied by a familiar caller ID which never failed to make the billionaire's skin crawl eerily at the sight of those piercing blue eyes. Tony always vowed that the Black Widow terrified him more than any creepy spider ever could.

"_What did you do to Steve?"_

"What makes you think that _I_ did anything?"

"_Stark."_

"It's hardly my fault that he's sensitive."

"_He was trying to remind you about the meeting that begins in thirty minutes, the one which you are supposed to attend-"_

"Meeting? I mean- yes, the meeting! How could I forget? In fact, I was just about to-"

"_Goodbye Stark."_

Barely supressing a drowsy yawn, Tony released a weary groan, rubbing his eyes irritably and delving a hand through his tousled brown hair. Glancing at the digital clock displayed on one of his numerous computer monitors, the philanthropist noted that he had just twenty eight minutes to spare. Briefly he wondered if he could invent some sort of excuse, perhaps claiming that he just couldn't make any space in his 'bustling' schedule…

Meetings were boring, pointless, and most excruciatingly of all, so damn tedious.

Whilst he was forced to hear Rogers drawl on and on about the necessity of team work, he could be modifying the suit and inventing wonderful things in the shop, marvellous creations that could benefit the rest of mankind….

Perhaps on any other day, Stark wouldn't have minded too much about Steve and his ridiculous meetings. Perhaps he would have been looking forward to gracing the team with his magnificent presence and uncontrollable sarcasm.

He wouldn't have minded much at all about a silly meeting, if only he wasn't feeling so utterly exhausted.

"I feel like shit," Stark stated simply, already feeling a nasty headache beginning to brew in his head, causing his temples to throb with a dull ache, "and I think my head's going to explode."

"_Duly noted Sir,"_ the AI responded promptly in his usual British accent, _"would you like an aspirin to alleviate your symptoms?"_

"Just kill me Jarvis- get it over with. I can't take it anymore."

"_And how would you like the deed to be done Sir?"_

"Just don't make a mess, or Pepper will be pissed- even more pissed than what she is already."

There was a familiar whirr that sounded from beside him, followed by the appearance of a mysterious glass of liquid that was thrust into his face by You; Stark felt his heart warm marginally at the gesture, plucking the drink from the bot and downing its contents in a swift gulp before placing the empty glass on his desk with a loud thud, releasing a spluttering cough as his throat began to burn in the aftermath.

"Jesus," he began with a wheeze, pointing an accusing finger at You, "what's in that, Cyanide?!"

"_Sir,"_ Jarvis interjected, _"may I remind you that you have twenty two minutes remaining until the meeting begins- would you like me to prepare a flight plan?"_

"Prepare the MRK3 V02," Tony commanded, hauling himself from his chair and stretching, wincing as his back sounded with a grimacing _click_. "Daddy's going out for a while. Be good, and no house parties while I'm gone. Understood?"

* * *

As usual, Tony arrived in true Stark style in the bulk of the Iron Man suit, landing on the high rooftop with a metallic clang, heavy footsteps sounding against the floor as he strolled into the building, allowing the bots to remove his suit piece by piece as he attempted to make himself look slightly more presentable. It was only when he reached the restrictive confines of the elevator that he finally got to scrutinise his eyesore of a reflection in the mirrored panels; dressed in a pair of worn denim jeans and a flimsy white vest that revealed the radiant glow of the arc reactor, he felt unusually underdressed without the polished red and gold of the Iron Man suit.

During the brief journey down he attempted to tame his hair, raking his fingers through the wild brown strands before surrendering with a huff of irritation, deciding that his efforts were frustratingly futile.

He narrowed his eyes slightly in an attempt to eradicate the weary haze that distorted his vision, the descent of the elevator causing him to sway slightly on his feet.

Staring intensely through a pair of cloudy hazel eyes, Tony tried hard to ignore the suspicious looking oil stain on his shirt and the ugly circles that hung like crescent moons beneath his eyes. He briefly thought about changing his attire, quickly dismissing the idea. 'I own this building, and I'll dress how I want,' he mused, stumbling slightly on his feet as the elevator came to a halt, the doors parting in a mechanical fashion.

It felt like an eternity as Stark strolled languidly through the hallway, feet scuffing the carpet as he approached his destination, the spacious meeting room which he had designed specifically for Rogers and his dull meetings. The décor was equally as draining.

"Remind me why I'm here again," he muttered in a low voice, interlocking his fingers and raising his arms above his head with a rewarding stretch, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when Jarvis interjected in a suspiciously amiable manner.

"_Would you like me to announce your presence Sir?"_

"You know we were discussing that killing thing earlier? You better get a move on, because I can't promise that I'll make it through another one of these meetings," he said finally, the door opening in anticipation as he approached.

Almost immediately all eyes were upon him, studying his casually dressed figure that lingered briefly in the doorway for a moment before greeting the occupants with a flashy smile and a slight wave of the hand, taking several paces before settling into a hard chair, observing the unusual silence that engulfed the room upon his entry, conversations dying immediately.

"Did someone die in here?" Stark enquired, "What's with the weird atmosphere in here?"

"Wow, you look like shit," Clint stated bluntly, head resting in one hand and drumming his fingers on the table top in an idle fashion, absorbing the sight of the dishevelled looking engineer.

"You know for a minute there, I almost cared."

"I've seen road kill looking healthier."

"Hey now, don't make me come over there! There's a new flamethrower I just installed in the suit which I have been just itching to test on something-"

Rogers cleared his throat, causing the room to fall into silence once more, which didn't last for too long as usual. A brown leather jacket hung on the back of his chair, and Rogers was dressed in a white shirt that remained open at the collar, revealing a tantalising expanse of bronzed collarbone, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame impressively. The handsome solider gazed sternly at the billionaire with a pair of striking blue eyes, arms folded across his broad chest and displaying a taut expression of absolute seriousness. "If you're both quite finished-"

"He started it," Tony interjected, pointing in the Hawk's direction with an accusing finger, "I'm the victim here!"

"Friends," Thor began, piercing the room with his usual prominent voice, "it seems that you humans have an odd way of showing your concern."

"Aw, Clint's worried about me? That's real cute!"

"I think I'm starting to feel nauseous," Natasha interjected in a barely audible voice, watching the scene unfold with an unimpressed glare.

"Guys," Banner said, raking a hand through his dishevelled hair with a sigh, "inside voices please."

"The next person to interrupt will be a substitute for my next punching bag," Steve warned, his patience quickly beginning to fray, "and that's a promise."

"Well," he began with an air of professionalism, sat forward in his seat, back military straight and elbows propped on the table top, fingers laced together and pen in hand, "there are a few things on the agenda today which I'd like to discuss."

Stark responded with a discontented groan, ignoring the stern gaze being emitted in his direction.

"It would be in everyone's best interest if we could just get through this as quickly as possible, with minimal interruptions or distractions," the blond said, ever so subtly averting his gaze to the billionaire. He glanced down at the paper that rested on the desk directly in front of him, skim reading the list with a pair of focused blue eyes. "Firstly, I'd like to remind you all that during the course of missions, the removal of your ear pieces is strictly unauthorized."

"Come on, that was _one_ time," Clint insisted, "I already apologized for that!"

"Secondly," Steve continued, "Fury would like to remind you all about the press conference next Wednesday, requesting that we all attend in uniform-"

"Uniform?" Stark repeated, elevating a brow inquisitively "Is that what we're calling it now? I thought that they were more like costumes…"

"My armor is no costume, man of iron," Thor said in mild offence, folding his arms across his broad chest solemnly, "it is greatly admired by the people of Asgard-"

"This request excludes me I hope," Banner said lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips "because I'd hate to wake up in front of a camera without any pants on. I think that's something that the worlds not ready for yet…"

"Nonsense," Tony declared with a broad grin. "In fact, I'd be more than happy to offer you some moral support-"

"_It would be most refreshing to see you in a video with your clothes on Sir,"_ Jarvis stated in a distinguished British accent, causing Tony to waggle his finger in disapproval.

"Jarvis, how many times have I told you not to interrupt Daddy when he's talking," the philanthropist scolded.

"_Approximately one hundred and seventeen times since my records began Sir."_

"It was a rhetorical question. That's r-h-e-t-o-r-i-c-a-l-"

"Moving _swiftly_ on," Steve said, patience quickly beginning to diminish as the meeting progressed tediously slow, "during the attack on New York, we were all thrown head first into the deep end, and it was all very new for us- still is in fact. I believe that there are a lot of adjustments and improvements still to be made-"

"Just spit it out Cap," Clint said bluntly, "I'm starting to get cramp over here."

"Barton," Natasha warned, kicking him in the shin beneath the table with a heeled boot, causing him to recoil with a pained hiss.

"What?! He's making that face," the archer accused, ignoring Romanoff's blue eyed glare that seemed to linger upon him with such intensity that he could almost feel his skin begin to _burn_. The face he was referring to was the expression that Rogers tended to use when he wanted to avoid bringing up a particular topic, when the Captain started to unintentionally digress; unaware, the blond would begin to avoid making direct eye contact, often beginning to toy with the cuff of his shirt or fiddle with the pen in his hand, a false confidence dripping from his tense figure.

"Face? What face?" Steve questioned impatiently.

"Now that you mention it, I think he is," Bruce confirmed, "the same one he used when he was trying to break the news to us about that physical S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted us to do…."

"No, I think that was a different face," Tony stated, trying to suppress the urge to fall asleep, "this one makes him look a bit more constipated."

"Stark-"

"You humans are strange," Thor declared bluntly, "and also very confusing, however it is apparent to me that you have little respect for the Captain when he trying to speak. Is Asgard, we respect our elders-"

"Thank you Thor," Steve replied, trying hard to ignore the various smirks appearing on the faces of his team mates, trying to reassure himself that he really wasn't _that_ old… "What I was trying to say, is that it has become very evident to me that our ability to function as a team is much to be desired, therefore we will beginning some team building exercises."

"I have a better idea," Tony announced, folding his arms across his chest, partially obscuring the blue glow of his arc reactor, "let's not and say that we did. Who's with me?"

"You can't be serious," Clint said, clearly unimpressed by Rogers unexpected announcement.

"I do not understand," Thor said, brows furrowed in confusion and a troubled expression dominating his features.

"Team building is a range of activities designed to improve team performance," Natasha replied, "activities designed for _children._"

"You know, it's really not such a bad idea," Bruce confessed honestly. "I mean, look at us- we're practically the definition of dysfunctional. How are we supposed to save the world when we can't even hold a proper meeting?"

"Thank you Doctor Banner," Steve replied, looking slightly defeated, "I appreciate it."

"Traitor," Stark accused, pouting childishly at Bruce. "I thought that we were friends."

"This is ridiculous," Romanoff said, "and I refuse to be a part of it."

"We're a lost cause," Barton professed honestly. "I understand what you're trying to do Steve, but I really must insist that you're wasting your time."

"Yeah, what he said," Tony pronounced idly. "Is this going to take long? Because I think I left the stove on…."

Suddenly Rogers came to a stand, causing the room to fall silent as a result, a serious countenance upon his face. "I might be a little old fashioned," Steve admitted, glancing at his team mates in disapproval with a pair of sharp blue eyes, "but I know a bad team when I see one. How are we supposed to trust each other out on the field if we can't even be civilized with each other?"

The more Tony was exposed to the Captain and his selfless personality, the more the man seemed to grow on him. Currently the muscular blonde reminded him of a kicked puppy the way he was gazing with those large, watery blue eyes; it was almost as if Rogers knew exactly how to pull the right strings.

The world had changed since the forties; everything had become more flash, more technical, and undeniably more selfish. Steve had been hauled back into service by S.H.I.E.L.D., exposed to a new era that was a foreign place to him that made him feel like a constant tourist.

The truth was, Steve was from the past, a place where all that remained were distant memories. Back in the war it had all been about selflessness and sacrifice, fighting for freedom and peace.

When Stark had met Captain America for the first time, he'd found it difficult to comprehend the reality of events. There was a man who had been presumed dead, suddenly discovered trapped in a cocoon of frozen ice like a fossil, a fine specimen from the forties that hadn't aged a single day since he'd gone down in that plane. _This_ was the man his Father had never stopped talking about, the man who Howard had never stopped looking for; Tony wasn't sure how to feel about that.

He was ashamed of the bitterness that still lingered within his heart.

It had only been a matter of time before their personalities finally clashed; that moment had come aboard the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, when Roger's words had been like rubbing salt into the wound. Mere words weren't supposed to faze him at all, because he was Tony Stark, the impenetrable celebrity that didn't care a dime what anyone thought of him.

Steve's words had wounded Tony more than he cared to admit, like a nasty slap to the cheek. Still as always Stark had taken it in his stride, seemingly unfazed and retorting in an equally sharp tongue, eyes narrowed dangerously like a provoked animal prowling in a cage anxiously.

Things had changed after New York, everything it seemed accept the relationship between Tony and the other members of the team. Despite the Avengers residing together in Stark towers, the brunette wasn't completely oblivious to the tension that materialized whenever he entered the room, haunting every floor of the tower wherever he ventured like a lingering spirit, heavy in the air and making it difficult to breathe…

Although perhaps he thought, it was just a figment of his imagination.

Perhaps he was just being ridiculous and insecure.

He was probably just being stupid again, always the pessimist when it came to working with others, as a _team_. The word itself left a nasty aftertaste in the mouth that he was still trying to grow accustomed to.

"Does anyone have anything planned for tomorrow?" Rogers asked, met with several resounding and reluctant 'no's' that came from various points across the table.

"Actually-" Stark began, "I'm pretty busy, so-"

"We'll start with something simple," Rogers said, interrupting the billionaire.

"So what do you want us to do?" Stark asked with a familiar air sarcasm, "Make daisy chains and hold hands? Or is that after the slumber party?"

"Why I am not surprised that you are so enthralled by the idea," Romanoff said languidly.

"Why don't you just stay at home," Clint said in irritation, "since I'm sure that you have much better things to do like play with your robots."

"At least I know I'd be in good company," Tony retorted brusquely, feeling a parental protectiveness for the bots, "and they're not just robots! I'm sure that even Dummy has a bigger IQ than you Robin Hood-"

"Guys," Bruce began, "can we please just be civil about this?"

"I don't think it's in his vocabulary," Clint countered resentfully.

"Whatever," Tony replied, dismissing the archers comment with a careless shrug. "Are we finished here? I was in the middle of something."

"Meeting dismissed," Rogers announced dejectedly, releasing an audible sigh.

* * *

The following morning, the brunette found himself wandering around the large workshop once more, sluggish, sleep deprived and terribly irritable as it seemed, and as usual the bot's were on the receiving end of his irritation. In his caffeine induced consciousness the philanthropist was barely able to function, his limbs responding lazily to his requests.

Exhaustion wasn't usually a problem for Tony, who had learned how to remain substantially efficient after just a few measly hours of sleep; however after a close shave with a smoldering iron just a few hours earlier, he began to question his ability to perform productively in such an embarrassing state. He counted himself lucky that he hadn't managed to amputate any limbs trying to install the new flight stabilizers in the suit. It had seemed like such an appropriate idea at the time, that was until he'd managed to zone out, suddenly snapped back into reality by a persistent Jarvis, who had managed to catch his attention before he'd managed to do some serious damage to several of his fingers.

He was a liability, this much he knew, yet he was also frustratingly stubborn.

Tony's foul mood didn't remain unnoticed by the bots, who travelled almost nervously around the workshop trying desperately not to do anything that could fray his drastically dwindling patience.

Suddenly there was a smash, causing the brunette to jump in surprise, his brown eyes widening in alarm as he sprung from his seat, only to find that once again Butterfingers had made an expressive mess in his kitchen. The bot began to retreat cautiously from the scene of the crime, shards of broken glass crunching beneath his wheels, leaving a trail of fragrant coffee tracks behind him on the smooth floor.

"Dammit Butterfingers," the engineer scolded, "how many times have I told you to stay _out_ of the kitchen?" Butterfingers flinched slightly at Starks tone, lowering his claw guiltily and responding with a timid and mechanical whirr. "I swear I'll rip out your motherboard with my bare hands and turn you into a wine rack… Dummy, clean that up."

The billionaire took a deep breath in a feeble attempt to calm himself, unable to ignore the erratic beating of his heart which pounded vigorously in his chest, ringing noisily in his ears. He collapsed weakly into the chair, placing a palm over the glowing reactor embedded deep into his chest, trying hard not to acknowledge the fact that such a measly accident had managed to cause his heart to race as if he were being attacked.

"_Sir, do you require some assistance?"_ Jarvis asked promptly. _"I have detected a perceptible increase in your heart rate and elevated breathing. Perhaps it would be best if I informed-"_

"No-" Stark said quickly, "I'm fine," he insisted, rather for his own assurance rather than the AI's. "I'm just… just a little jumpy. That's all."

He gazed down at the familiar glow of the reactor, its blue light protruding through the dark fabric of his black shirt, a blurry haze before his tired eyes. He traced its smooth surface with his fingertips in reassurance, assuring himself that it was still there, were it always was, and that he was just _fine_.

Taking another steady breath, he ran a hand through his disheveled looking hair, only to discover that the limb was shaking _ever so slightly_.

'Just look at the state of me,' he thought dismally, 'I'm supposed to be Iron Man!'

For a while, Tony remained sat back quietly in his chair, analyzing a projection of the suit, taking it apart piece by piece and discarding things into the virtual trash, rotating the image with a simple spinning gesture with his finger. He listened to the mechanical whirrs and hums of his bots, the familiarity a comfort to his ears. He found himself working automatically, his hands moving of their own accord whilst he wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing. It was just a distraction, something to occupy his mind so he didn't have to think- didn't have to think about anything that made him fidget uncomfortably in his seat, like the fact he hadn't spent any quality time with Pepper in a while…

Thinking was risky because it made him experience things, feelings like remorse, guilt, and fear.

There was a light tap on his back, causing him to glance casually over his shoulder to discover a hesitant looking Butterfingers fidgeting nervously on his wheels.

The bot gestured to the mug of freshly brewed coffee that was situated helpfully on his desk, the pleasant aroma arousing his sluggish senses. He lingered for a short moment, anxiously anticipating a response as if he were expecting to be praised.

Tony couldn't suppress the soft smile that tugged at his lips, and he rewarded Butterfingers with an affectionate pat, causing the bot to whirr in an appreciative manner.

"Thanks Butterfingers. I'm sorry I yelled. Daddy's feeling a little grouchy today."

"_Sir, you have a message from Captain Rogers. He'd like to remind you about the social gathering in the lounge on the tenth floor of the tower at approximately five thirty this evening."_

"This day just gets better," Tony replied, smile quickly fading to a frown. "You know Jarvis, you always know how to improve my mood."

"_I try my best Sir,"_ the AI responded cheekily, _"would you like me to send a response?"_

"Yeah. Tell him I can't make it because I've been kidnapped by Martians and they're holding me for ransom. Think he'd buy that?"

"_I wouldn't hold your breath Sir."_

"Don't bother. It'd take him like six hours to figure out how to read it anyway. Prepare a flight plan. Wouldn't want Cap to get his spandex in a twist…"

"_Sir, I must protest. With your current level of sleep deficiency I would strongly advise you not to engage in flight while in the suit. It could have severe consequences-"_

"I didn't program you to argue Jarvis."

"_No Sir, but you did provide me with some common sense. Sleep deprivation can drastically affect your concentration-"_

"Are you offering to drive then mother hen?"

* * *

"Well that was interesting," Tony announced to nobody in particular as the bots began to dismantle his suit once more.

On his journey down to the lounge, the brunette reflected on the intriguing flight, still trying to recover from the bizarre experience of letting his AI drive for once. It had been interesting to say the least; although far from feeling eager to repeat the experience, the philanthropist couldn't deny the fact that the idea had some potential.

"_How was my driving Sir?"_ Jarvis asked as Stark strolled languidly into the lounge, the engineer slightly surprised to discover that he was in fact the first to arrive.

"Fantastic. Remind me to take some notes later, and tell Rhodey that he'd due for an MOT this month. I'd hate for him to fall out of the sky because there was a screw loose or something."

Unexpectedly, Agent Barton landed with an audible thud on the thick carpet just a few feet in front of him, emerging from the vent coolly as if it were the most common habit in the world. Stark tried with difficulty to dissolve the look of surprise from his features, failing miserably as he collapsed onto the long sofa, gazing blankly at the archer with a brow elevated in question.

"Can't you use the door like a normal person?" Tony asked, trying hard not to feel offended when the Agent choose to sit several spaces away, as if he were emitting some kind of offensive odor.

"Now where would be the fun in that?"

The next to arrive was Thor, followed by Steve and then Natasha.

Tony tried not to notice the way in which she'd gravitated towards Clint, settling in the seat beside him as if she were his shadow. When he and Pepper had been busy redesigning the tower, they had of course most unintentionally located Agent Bartons floor directly above Romanoff's, because they were simply thoughtful like that. The billionaire could still remember the day the team had moved in, especially the very moment he'd announced who would be occupying each floor and he'd decided to award Natasha with a not so inconspicuous wink.

Watching the pair sat comfortably side by side, he was sorely tempted to make some kind of comment in usual Stark fashion, however he'd certainly learned his lesson the first time. He didn't desire to gain another dead arm again, but there again, he was Tony Stark.

After a few moments of contemplation, he decided the he just couldn't help himself.

"You two look awfully cozy," he declared with an amused smirk, ignoring the icy glares being emitted in his direction as he vacated his seat, heading for the bar and fumbling wearily for an empty glass as he eyed the contents of the liquor cabinet with great interest.

"Keep talking," Natasha replied, "I dare you."

"You've got a feisty one there Barton."

"Tony," Steve warned, "could you please behave yourself?"

"Sorry," the brunette replied, "I can't control it. You know, sometimes I think I might have Tourette's or something-"

"Would you like me to give you a diagnosis?"

Finally there was the arrival of Doctor Banner, who looked as if he'd just emerged from his lab, sleeves of his purple shirt rolled to the elbow and glasses in hand, hair looking impressively disheveled as always.

"Good evening Dr Jekyll," the engineer said in good humour as he poured himself a stiff drink, a feeble attempt to alleviate his exhaustion. "How's Mr Hyde?"

"Not so good," Bruce replied, "he's looking a little green today."

Stark approached the physicist and cheerfully thrust a glass into his hand with a warm smile; settling back onto the sofa with an audible thud, the philanthropist began to pat the unoccupied space beside him, gesturing for Bruce to join him.

"You know, a decent host is supposed to offer everyone a drink," Clint muttered.

"Bar's that way," Tony replied, pointing lazily with his hand, "and I'm not the host, Steve is. This was his idea."

"Well," Steve began, "I thought we'd start with something simple today. I've always been a firm believer that human interaction breeds manners-"

Barton released a cough, which sounded suspiciously like 'Stark'.

"You mean we have to talk to each other?" Natasha asked, and Steve merely nodded in confirmation. "Well Stark," she said with a detectable smile, "this should be right up your street."

"That sounded like a challenge," Bruce stated, to which Romanoff replied, "Don't encourage him."

"So," Rogers began rather stiffly, pausing briefly in thought, "How was everyone's day? Let's start with you Thor." The blonde resisted the urge to cringe as soon as the words passed his lips, suddenly reminding himself that he was simply just awful at making conversation. Although the team currently had blank faces, he just knew that internally, they were laughing at him.

"The voice in the ceiling taught me how to use one of your Midgardian inventions," Thor replied proudly, "the…."

"_Telephone Mr Odinson,"_ Jarvis interjected helpfully, causing the Aesir to immediately crane his neck to glance towards the ceiling with a pair of curious blue eyes.

"Yes. I have been informed that this is how you humans communicate with each other. It is most intriguing. I thought that perhaps I could talk to Jane."

"Sorry to interrupt," Tony said unapologetically, "but there's nothing in the ceiling, just Barton crawling around in the vents, which is totally fine," he added with emphasis in response to Clint's narrowed eyes. "His names Jarvis, and he's-"

"_Just A Very Intelligent System Sir,"_ Jarvis responded in a distinguished British accent.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," the billionaire said finally, taking a swig of his drink.

"That's a very thoughtful idea Thor," Steve said, feeling more and more like a preschool teacher as the evening went on. 'This,' he thought, 'is probably how it feels to be a parent, although I'd like to think that children are better behaved.' "How was your day Doctor Banner?"

"Well, after breakfast I went down to the lab to do some research, and things got a little strange after that," Bruce said, glancing at Stark in suspicion. "There was a note on the desk telling me to look in the draw, and when I touched the handle it gave me an electric shock."

There was an audible splutter as the philanthropist choked on his drink, eyes glistening in amusement. Although he didn't spend much time in the lab at Stark towers these days, when he had a hole in his busy schedule, he always enjoyed paying a visit when he was passing by. More recently, he'd taken to leaving his mark in the form of pranks and post-it notes, which were entirely for his own amusement to relieve the boredom, as well as brighten the Doctor's day during his absence.

"Thanks for the gift," Bruce said to Tony with a small smile, "it was very thoughtful of you. I've always wanted six canisters of Helium."

"You're welcome," Tony replied. "I thought we could have some fun with that later-" Bruce elevated a brow inquisitively, "for experimental purposes only of course…. I was thinking that we could give some to the big guy next time he decides to make an appearance."

"Hulk, on Helium," Rogers stared blankly, trying to process the potential scenario in his head.

"This I have to see," Barton said, thoroughly enthralled by the idea.

"And just how are you going to accomplish that exactly?" Natasha asked, clearly unimpressed.

"I'm Tony Stark," the engineer replied, as if the answer were entirely obvious.

"Friends, what is this 'Helium' you speak of?" Thor asked, a puzzled expression marring his defined features.

"It's is a colorless, odorless, tasteless, non-toxic, inert, monatomic gas-" Bruce began, interrupted by Stark who added-

"And it's the second lightest and abundant element in the observable universe."

"When helium is inhaled," Bruce continued, "there is a corresponding increase in the pitches of the resonant frequencies of the vocal tract."

Thor continued to stare blankly, utterly confused by the duo and their scientific explanation of the Midgardian element.

Natasha released an audible sigh and added simply, "It gives you a funny voice."

"Midgard is truly a strange place," the blonde said honestly. "It amuses me greatly. Of all of the realm's I have seen nothing quite like it."

"What's it like is Asgard?" Steve asked curiously, rather pleased at the apparent progression of the conversation.

"It is truly magnificent," Thor declared proudly. "Everything is golden and beautiful- I only wish that you could see it for yourselves. I have never seen anything more astonishing than the view from the bi-frost. It always managed to take my breath away."

"Bifrost?" Barton questioned.

"A link to all of nine realms. It was once the only portal leading to Midgard, guarded by Heimdall. It has long been destroyed."

"So how did you get here then?" Natasha pressed inquisitively.

"The All-Father-"

"You know, now's the perfect time to brush up on my Norse mythology," Stark interrupted keenly, "mind if I ask a few questions?"

"I would be most honoured man if iron."

"Great!" Tony exclaimed, draining the remaining contents of his glass and getting to his feet, heading to the bar with the intention of pouring another. "So, if you don't mind me asking, just how old are you exactly? Myth says that you're 3091, but that can't possibly be true-"

"That is most preposterous," the blond replied with a frown, "I am barely half of that!"

"Well, that makes me feel slightly better I suppose," Rogers added, piercing the amazed silence that had suddenly shrouded the room. If the Captain was completely honest, he doubted that many things could surprise him anymore- apart from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier of course.

After being told that he'd been frozen in the ice for almost seventy years, the blonde has immediately assumed that the world must have altered significantly; after all, seventy years was just a few decades short of a century. So he'd discovered that everyone had colour television, most people owned a 'portable telephone', and military technology had evolved impressively (including the development of the terrifying atomic bomb), and best if all, the war had ended in 1945. Steve could absorb these things, however he was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that Mankind was not entirely alone in the universe, yet the evidence was sat right in front of him, in the form of a blonde haired and blue eyed demi-god.

Upon meeting Thor for the first time, the team had all mutually agreed that the guy looked as if he'd appeared straight out of a book, particularly the way he went into battle wearing his impressive armour and red cape- everything about him appeared to be Godly, from his striking physique to that booming and monotonous voice. Unlike his brother, he was every inch the alpha male.

"Guess you can't tease Steve for being old anymore," Clint uttered to Stark, who was busy enjoying his alcoholic beverage.

"Just watch me," the brunette replied coolly, placing his glass on the table with an audible thud.

For a while, the minutes passed by in an indistinguishable blur for Stark, who found himself struggling increasingly to keep up with the conversation. Occasionally he interjected with some sort of remark in the sharp witted, cocky and sarcastic manner that had long become associated with him- he wondered if they ever expected anything else. It had become apparent to the engineer that they were always just _waiting_ for the eccentric personality to emerge, as if it were inevitable, and perhaps they were correct to a certain extent.

Pepper had once joked that is was surprising that he'd managed to invent an array of impressive gadgets and devices, yet not a filter for his large mouth.

Aside from engineering, talking had always been a fond skill that Tony had excelled in. In fact, he was sure that if it had been a degree, he would have passed with flying colours.

It had always been just another element of the confident engineer that everyone wanted to see, that he wanted to be; however he found that these days, during life post-cave and the Chitauri invasion, he said things loosely without much thought, the words passing his lips automatically in a mechanical fashion, lacking any real meaning or passion. On the rare occasion that he restrained himself verbally, suspicions were immediately aroused.

Shifting slightly, Stark could feel his body sink snuggly into the soft couch, molding into the cushions comfortably as he proceeded to observe his team mates with a pair of dark eyes.

After a shaky start to the evening, things were progressing rather smoothly and the conversation flowed consistently in a way which they hadn't thought was possible- hell, even Barton, the deadly assassin was smiling.

The Avengers looked fairly content, complete with open body language and maintained eye contact- even Doctor Banner had partially emerged from his shell, however his reserve was still detectable.

Stark wasn't blind. He knew how difficult it had to be for the physicist learning to trust and find faith in humanity all over again, much like himself. As he glanced languidly to the scientist's figure that remained seated beside him, he knew that it must be strange for him resisting the urge to run anymore. It had taken an exhausting amount of persuasion to convince Bruce to stay at the tower, trying to convince the man that everything was going to be fine and he wasn't a threat to the residents of New York.

After much hounding and bribery from the billionaire, Bruce had finally agreed to stay, much to Tony's delight. Although he wasn't particularly accustomed to having company in the lab besides Artificial Intelligence, Banner was fun to have around. The man was intelligent and an expert in his field, more than what people gave him credit for, or at least Stark thought so. Even without the addition of the Hulk, Banner was an extraordinary man.

Eventually, the philanthropist realized that he wasn't listening anymore but simply gazing absently at the surveying scene of his spacious lounge, as if he were watching the television on mute.

With the persistent threat of exhaustion lingering heavily in the air, he knew with great certainty that it had been a bad idea to come; with his brain struggling to function sufficiently, it was only a matter of time before he did something undeniably stupid.

"_Sir, Colonel Rhodes is on the line,_" Jarvis announced in a familiar British accented tone, causing the conversation to cease rather suddenly.

"Tell him I'm busy," the engineer replied, waving his hand languidly in dismissal.

"_Sir, I'm afraid he's insisting._"

The familiar hum of the mobile in his pocket seized his attention, causing him to reach languidly into his jean pocket. Glancing at the screen, the philanthropist was greeted by the sight of a familiar figure displayed on the caller ID, accompanied by a message that read 'Incoming Call- James Rhodes.'

"Well, if it isn't my favourite Colonel," Stark declared cheerfully, holding the device loosely to his ear. "What can I do for you this fine evening?"

"_Are you busy?_"

"God, this line is awful. Where are you, on top of Everest?"

"Can't you take this outside?" Steve interjected with a frown of disapproval, drumming his fingertips on the arm of the chair in a repetitive fashion.

"Do you mind? I'm on the phone here," the mechanic said flippantly, averting his attention back to the phone call.

"_Tony, I-_"

"Oh my god, are you driving? Because if you are, I'm totally hanging up now."

"_Just answer the question Tony! Are you busy?_"

"No-"

"_Good, because I could really do with some help here. It's the suit-_"

"If this is about that missing screw I forgot to put in, I can assure you that I had absolutely no idea until a_fter _you'd left."

"_What?!_"

"Relax, I was just kidding."

"_Listen Tony, I'm going to keep this brief- I'm trying to fly here, and you're disturbing my concentration_."

"Yes Mom. Now what appears to be the problem?"

After much reluctance, the Colonel finally uttered, perhaps in slight embarrassment, "the suit. It… It won't come off."

Almost immediately, Tony broke into a surge of laughter, unable to control himself as he blatantly laughed in Rhodey's face. The team began to stare rather inquisitively, undoubtedly beginning to question his sanity.

"This," he began with a wheeze, the giggling beginning to subside, "really is priceless!"

"_Are you going to laugh all night or are you going to help me?_"

"What do you mean it won't come off? Of course it comes off! What are you wearing underneath, superglue?"

"_Very funny Tony. You're such a comedian._"

"I'm at the tower. Meet me on the roof," the engineer declared promptly, abandoning his seat on the couch and grasping the glass of amber coloured liquid that rested half full on the smooth surface of the glass coffee table.

"_Thanks Tony- much appreciated._"

"Just get over here already would you? There'll be plenty of time for you to kiss my ass later. Oh, and one last thing-"

"_Yes Tony?_"

"I didn't install a filtration system in the War Machine, so try not to pee yourself-"

"_Goodbye Tony._"

The line grew silent, and Stark proceeded to drain the contents of his glass before displaying a smirk of thorough amusement, trying desperately not to laugh and spray the other Avengers with expensive alcohol.

"Well I'd love to stay for the party, however it looks like I've got a date on the roof with the Colonel."

Placing the empty tumbler back onto the table with an audible thud, Stark strolled across the plush carpet with languid footsteps, suddenly feeling rather thankful for an excuse to stretch his legs and leave the idle chatter behind him. How he loved bonding with his teammates….

"Don't wait up for me," he called cheerfully as he disappeared through the doorway and into the hall, intending on taking the elevator to the highest floor.

The philanthropist wanted to feel bad about missing one of Steve's 'greatly anticipated' team building activities, however he just wasn't capable of lying to himself.

For the past hour his concentration had begun to dwindle, the conversation drifting through his ears barely registering at all. He was certain that his lack of intrigue hadn't remained unnoticed by the rest of the team, however apparently they'd decided not to say anything, allowing him to sit there, consumed by the thick fog that shrouded and diverted his attention.

Just a few minutes later Tony was standing on the roof, gazing up at the star spangled sky and raking a hand through his hair with a drained sigh, rubbing his bleary eyes and tapping himself lightly on the cheek in a feeble attempt to revitalize his weary form. It had been a few days since he'd last succumbed to the necessity of sleep; he'd fallen asleep at his desk in the workshop, awaking just a few hours later after being plagued by hideous nightmares, clutching a palm firmly over the arc reactor with a shaking hand, attempting to calm his erratic breathing before heading to the kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink.

He was just waiting for Jarvis to try and bribe him to go to bed, just like the AI always did after he exceeded the forty eight hour limit.

Unfortunately, Tony was a stubborn man, often spending days upon end locked away in the haven of his workshop, mind too busy occupied to think of minor things like taking a tedious nap. When the engineer thought he was on to something nothing could distract him, not even exhaustion.

Through the haze of fatigue, Stark's brain managed to register the familiar hum of thrusters that rang through his ears, and the War Machine landed on the roof with a metallic thud; he approached the iron clad Colonel with a teasing grin, struggling to suppress the urge to greet the man with an inappropriate comment riddled with sarcasm and mockery, as was his usual fashion.

The brunette strolled across the rooftop and headed back inside, addressing Rhodey with a teasing salute before beckoning him with a single finger, gesturing for him to follow.

"So Rhodey, how did you break my beautifully crafted War Machine suit?"

"Faulty engineering," the Colonel replied simply.

"You know, I designed these things to come off. The only thing I can think of is that maybe you've gained a few pounds…"

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"You know me. I never like to waste an opportunity. Now, can you fit in the elevator?"

"I'm sure I could make some room with my new missile launcher."

"You know what, I think you'll be just fine, I'll just have to breath in a little. Now, time to get you out of that thing- Jarvis, where did I leave that crow bar?"

"Very funny," Rhodes added, unable to suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips beneath the visor of his suit. "Perhaps you'd be able to find it if your ego wasn't taking up so much space."

"Jesus- you're using humour, this must be more serious that I initially thought; take it away Jarvis."

"_Preparing to begin diagnostics. Estimated completion time of full scan, precisely two hours, forty minutes and thirty five seconds._"

* * *

Eventually, Tony had managed to free a relieved Rhodey from the confines of the War Machine suit. After rebooting the system and re-calibrating the virtual environment, Stark had managed to convince the Colonel to leave the suit behind for further modifications and testing, just to ease his conscience. He wanted to ensure that the suit was fully functional before allowing him to use it again; if something happened to Rhodey because he'd missed something, he'd never forgive himself for it.

"Jarvis, are the others still up?"

"_Yes Sir, with the exception of Dr Banner who has now retired to his room._"

Reclining comfortably in his chair, Stark propped his feet beside several large monitors that resided on his desk, uncaring as his feet caused an array of papers to fall to the floor with a chaotic flutter, landing in a jumbled mess. "Call him," the brunette commanded languorously, raising his arms above him as he stretched in a feline manner, arching his back with a satisfied groan before placing his hands behind his head in a lazy fashion.

"_Hey Tony. What can I do for you at- one fifteen in the morning? _"

"Well would you look at that," he replied casually, confirming the physicist's statement by observing the digital clock displayed in the right hand corner of the wide screen. Tony couldn't help but smile upon hearing Banners weary tone. "The night is still young Bruce! Don't tell me that you're turning into an old man already. You're just one step away from electric blankets and afternoon naps."

"_Things were getting a little too wild for me,_" Bruce confessed, "_and Thor was giving me a headache. When he's drunk everything he does seems to be amplified- I swear my ears are ringing. He doesn't seem to understand the concept of Teetotalism._"

"Sounds like you had fun."

"_Things got a little too much for me when Clint started dancing on the table._"

"I might have to look for that on the video feed later," the engineer admitted with a small smile of amusement at the thought. "Perhaps I could send it to fox news or something; the media's been a little dismal this week."

Bruce was unable to suppress an audible yawn, to which Stark responded with, "I'm sorry, am I keeping you up? How about I tuck you in and read you a bed time story?"

"_Another night perhaps, preferably when I'm wearing undergarments._"

"Oh please, you're making me blush," Tony teased. "I promise I won't peak. I'll be on my best behavior, scouts honor- or something…"

"_Goodnight Tony_."

"Goodnight darling. Sweet dreams."

A short while later, Tony found himself rummaging through the mess of tools and blueprints scattered across the surface of his bench that resided at the back of the lab. After several minutes of sifting through a tangle of wires, he paused, rubbing his eyes wearily as he realized he'd long forgotten what he was looking for.

"_Sir,_" Jarvis began, the philanthropist already anticipating the probable lecture, "_I must insist that you get some sleep. Sleep deprivation can cause serious health problems, including stroke or heart failure-_"

"Well that's going to help me drift off tonight," Stark concluded, rolling his eyes.

"_Sir-_"

"Ok, I'm going already, don't get your panties in a twist."

"_Since you have complied with my request,_ _would you like to know a secret Sir?_"

"I'm all ears," he replied as he descended the stairs to civilization, feeling far from ecstatic at the thought of his dreams being riddled with nightmares.

"_I'm not wearing any underwear Sir._"

"You know, I don't remember programming you to have a sense of humour Jarvis," the brunette replied in amusement, legs beginning to protest as he clambered to the top, reaching the long landing of the tenth floor. "Is it full moon or something? Because everyone seems to be taking off their pants tonight."

"_Perhaps there is something in the air Sir. Would you like me to take a reading? _"

Stark chose to ignore the AI's comment, entering his trusty elevator once more, declaring "take me up baby."

"_Sir, it seems that Agent Barton, Mr Odinson, Agent Romanoff, and Captain Rogers have congregated in the lounge beside the master bedroom. Would you like me to initiate soundproofing?_"

"No need, since they won't be staying."

The doors opened and Tony exited the elevator, feet scuffing lazily across the cream coloured carpet as he approached the noisy lounge with the intention of evicting its residence. The revelation had left him feeling slightly irritated, which was considerably heightened by the fact that he was already beginning to feel grouchy from the effects of sleep deprivation. Although there were no measures preventing team members from accessing each other's floors, there had always been a mutual understanding that they wouldn't invade each other's privacy unless they were granted permission first. After a long day of missions and bland meetings, sometimes it was necessary for them to have their open space to unwind; they all had reclusive tendencies, even social butterflies like Stark.

When he finally peered around the doorway, he stood there for several moments, completely confounded by the surveying scene that was situated before his hazel eyes.

It seemed that his presence had remained undetected, and while Steve was beginning to look slightly out of place being the only sober inhabitant of the room, Thor and Barton were obviously fairly intoxicated, looking cheerful and contented as they continued to devour alcohol like fish in water, while Romanoff looked on at the peculiar scene as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Guys," Steve interjected, trying hard to retain his tranquil composure, "I think you've both had enough."

"Captain, I insist you join us for another drink!" Thor insisted enthusiastically, clasping the blond Captain by the shoulder and patting him firmly on the back in a friendly gesture, largely unaware of his own brute force. Tony almost winced in sympathy, watching as Thor's pats vibrated through Steve's body, almost pushing him off of his chair and sending him to the floor.

"For the last time Thor, I can't get drunk."

"Nonsense my friend!" Thor exclaimed with immense enthusiasm, a broad grin tugging at his lips as he reached for another bottle, removing the cap with his teeth and spitting it aside. "In Asgard, it is often the custom to drink until one loses consciousness!"

"I'm not paid enough for this," Rogers decided with a sigh, raking a hand through his hair and wondering just when he'd been demoted from Captain and reassigned as a baby sitter. "Clint, go to bed, before I ask Natasha to escort you there with a gun to your head."

"She wouldn't," Clint retorted confidently, gazing into the mirror that was mounted on the wall, a pen in hand and holding the cap between his teeth, busy fussing with his reflection in great secrecy.

"Try me," the red head coolly replied, seemingly unfazed by the chaos and sipping contently on a glass of white wine. "The Captains right, its time you went to bed, before you do something stupid."

"But _Mom_," Barton whined. "What are you going to do? Ground me?"

"Don't give me ideas," Natasha retorted sharply. "You have ten seconds before I'm obliged to use force."

"But-"

"Ten."

"Wait a second," the archer protested, "I'm almost done-"

"Nine."

"Come on, I promise it will be worth the wait-"

"Eight."

"This was a ridiculous idea," Steve said, looking very much drained and perhaps even slightly defeated. "I think next time we're going to incorporate a no drinking rule." He turned to Natasha, who had just drained the remaining contents of her glass. "You seem…. Unperturbed," he commented, wishing that the serum could have at least strengthened his patience as well as his physical attributes.

"Liquid courage Captain," she replied simply, settling her empty glass upon the table. "Barton, you have five seconds before I unleash the taser."

Before Natasha could finish, Clint spun keenly on his heel and announced with a proud grin, "finished!" The archer put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest confidently, sporting a hastily drawn mass of inky facial hair that had an uncanny resemblance to Starks.

Tony cleared his throat loudly, leaning languidly against the doorframe with his shoulder, arms folded sternly across his chest and a discontented glare marring his features, clearly unimpressed.

"Having fun?"

"Listen Stark," Steve began apologetically, "I'm really sorry about the mess. We'll have it cleaned up in no time-"

"Man of Iron," Thor boomed in a monotonous voice, "you must join us!"

"Does anyone want to explain what you're all doing on _my_ floor, without _my _permission?"

"I can explain," Clint said quickly, resembling a deer caught in the headlights. "I-"

"You know what, I don't even care," the philanthropist said, too exhausted to unleash his fuming temper. "Enjoy your party," he added, disappearing from view and stomping down the hallway in immense irritation, entering his room and slamming the door loudly behind him.

A few minutes later, Stark found himself perched on the foot of the bed, legs dangling lazily off of the edge while he raked a single hand through his hair, suppressing the urge to head downstairs and go a few rounds on one of Steve's punching bags.

Craning his neck, he gazed at the framed photograph that rested upon his bedside table; it was of a familiar handsome looking billionaire, his arm slung casually around the shoulders of a gorgeous woman, pulling her close for a picture. Both wore genuine smiles, content and consumed in complete bliss- it made his heart tug.

Only a few more days remained until she returned from D.C., and Tony was counting down the days.

Reclining back onto the luxurious mattress, Tony knew that in the cold, empty bed, he wasn't going to be doing much sleeping.

He wondered how long his slumber would remain undisturbed until the nightmares resurfaced again.

"Jarvis, you awake?"

"_For you Sir, always._"

"I need you to do Daddy a favour. Is the lounge still occupied?"

"_Yes Sir._"

"We have a fire sprinkler system installed in that room, right?"

"_Affirmative._"

"Good," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You know what to do."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary: ** "It has become evident to me that our ability to function as a team is much to be desired, therefore we will begin a series of team building exercises," Steve announced bluntly.

"I have a better idea," Tony declared, folding his arms across his chest, partially obscuring the blue glow of his arc reactor, "let's not and say that we did. Who's with me?"

He knew what he was; a billionaire with an inflated ego and more money than sense. He was nothing like the Iron Man suit- we was weak, an insomniac, and haunted frequently by anxiety attacks.

Can Stark overcome his personal obstacles and finally learn how to play well with others?

**Note:** Since I'm English, there may be some variations in spelling.

**Authors Note: **Hello! Remember me? Most of you are probably relieved to find that I decided to continue this story, as I received a lot of positive feedback after posting the first chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/alerted so far.

On another note, who else can't wait for the release of the new Thor movie?! Oh Loki, how I've missed you…

* * *

Gazing through the curving windowpane, Pepper admired the clear blue sky as she continued to unpack, her luggage case laying open on top of the high mattress as she disembowelled it of its contents, putting each item back in its proper place and correcting Tony's mess, like the true perfectionist that she was.

It was a beautiful morning in New York; the warm sun blazed down upon the city with a radiant glow, beaming through the glass and illuminating the room and all of its exquisite furnishings, including a piece of her modern art collection that hung high on the wall beside the dressing table (much to Starks protest).

Although she missed the fresh Californian air, there was a place reserved in Peppers heart for the looming tower and its impressive view. She preferred it immensely to that crummy hotel room in Washington. Self-sustaining and superior, Stark Tower was a modern architectural masterpiece, no matter how ridiculously oversized and flashy that it was. Without a doubt, it held many similar qualities to its owner.

Reaching across the bed to retrieve another piece of laundry from her case, the CEO became aware of the distinct sound of footsteps padding across the plush carpet, stopping in close proximity behind her.

Suddenly, a pair of arms seized her by the waist and tugged her against a broad chest, a head resting tenderly upon her shoulder. She could feel a familiar circular device against her back through the flimsy fabric of her shirt, undoubtedly the arc reactor, accompanied by a handsome looking engineer.

"Mr Stark," she greeted him softly, turning in his grasp and encircling her arms around his neck for a loving embrace, all too aware of the way in which the brunette seemed to cling tiredly to her, as if she were the only thing keeping him standing.

"Good morning Miss Potts," he replied in a low voice, lips hovering against the delicate shell of her ear. "Did you have a good trip?"

"It was as good as it could ever be without you," she retorted honestly, seizing him firmly by the chin and awarding him with a scrutinising gaze, narrowing her eyes as she absorbed the sight of his wearied looking expression.

"Oh Tony," she said in concern, tracing the noticeable dark smudges beneath those tantalising brown eyes. "Have you slept at all since I left?"

"Of course," he insisted, brushing her hands aside and seizing them with his own, his calloused engineer hands engulfing her palms and long dainty fingers. "You know, I'm able to actually look after myself sometimes. Come on- don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"_That_," he declared accusingly. "That face you make when you think I'm lying… Would I ever lie to you?"

"Does palladium poisoning ring any bells?"

"That wasn't a lie. I just didn't tell you," he protested. "There's a difference."

"Have you been eating ok at least?"

"Bruce made Indian on Thursday-"

"I leave you alone for five minutes and you fall apart without me!"

"Don't flatter yourself, that's my job. I-"

"If you don't start eating properly you're going to start wasting away before my very eyes," she informed him, her tone laced with disapproval. "You look exhausted."

"Pepper, I'm fine. I just-"

"Tony," she interjected sternly, "you're wearing your shirt inside out."

There was a brief pause as Stark glanced down at his Black Sabbath t-shirt, unsurprised to find that its usual and familiar design wasn't currently visible, confirming that he was in fact wearing the garment incorrectly. "Well would you look at that," he murmured finally, trying with great difficultly to conceal his embarrassment. "I-"

"Come here," Pepper commanded softly, welcoming him once more with open arms, only this time she held him tightly, threading her fingers through his dark hair as he rested his head on top of her shoulder, burying his face into the crook of her neck, just like he'd done on so many occasions, although none had ever been quite like this.

At that single moment, Tony almost felt like a child again, a poor and defenceless young boy craving for his mother's affections; the way he relied on Pepper should have humiliated him. He often wondered how on earth he'd ever cope without her reminding him to sleep, or maintain a diet that consisted of more than just coffee and alcohol. She had only been away for a short while, yet at times it had seemed like more of a brief eternity.

"Where would I be without you?"

"Sitting in a bar somewhere," she replied, "trying to find answers at the bottom of an empty glass and pestering young girls with corny chat up lines."

"Sounds like my twenty third birthday, but with less nudity," he added.

"Speaking of nudity," a sultry voice whispered in the philanthropist's ear; a pair of dainty wondering hands began to trail down his spine, pausing at the waist and clutching fistfuls of his shirt.

"I thought you'd never ask."

"Don't get too excited," Pepper replied. "I'm only changing your shirt."

* * *

After Peppers return from D.C., Tony had barely lasted an hour before his body finally betrayed him and he eventually succumbed to sleep.

The billionaire was sprawled casually across the expanse of the enormous leather couch, his head resting in Peppers lap whilst he dozed fitfully, chest rising and falling in a repetitive manner with every breath he took, jostling the reactor.

The room was quiet, not a single sound to be heard but the usual hum of bustling traffic emerging from the outside world; Jarvis had lowered the lights and activated a slight tint to the wide windows, effectively keeping out the powerful glare of the sun and allowing the engineer to have his siesta undisturbed while Pepper played affectionately with his hair, glancing down upon his snoozing form and smiling fondly.

She was always amazed by how much younger Tony seemed to look while he slept; gone were the dark circles beneath his eyes, the crescent moons that lingered like inky smudges upon his tanned complexion, making him often appear permanently exhausted.

It was no secret that Stark's mind was always buzzing with activity, the cogs turning in his head almost permanently, even while he was contemplating the most mundane of tasks. Never truly capable of switching off, he was always designing, deducing, and contemplating various theories and projects, regardless of whether they mattered or not.

With Tony being such an intriguing eccentric, Pepper had been pleasantly surprised to discover that the brunette was in fact a relatively quiet sleeper- she'd almost expected him to talk in his sleep.

She had arrived back from her trip to discover her significant other wondering around the tower like a zombie, feet dragging lazily across the carpet with his hair and attire in complete disarray. Unlike the handsome genius that was exposed to the public eye, the Tony that Pepper knew was highly unpredictable and often a complete mess, abusing his body and ignoring its need for substance and sleep. Sometimes, she had to remind him that he wasn't like the bots and that even they needed charging.

Living with Tony Stark was many things- volatile, bizarre, and extremely chaotic, keeping the blonde on her toes at all times. She often wondered how she'd managed to survive this long and yet somehow manage to keep her sanity intact. It could be draining and stressful, yet Pepper knew with great certainty that she wouldn't change anything at all, even if she did feel sorely tempted to knock some sense into the man at times.

He was a complete scatterbrain, and she loved him for it.

* * *

After spending another night cooped up in the lab, Stark decided that it was probably time for him to return to civilisation, where people ate, slept, and functioned fully like normal human beings.

As usual, the engineer had only intended to occupy his holographic workstation for a few more minutes, promising Pepper that he'd come straight to bed once he had 'finished up'. As it turned out, a few more minutes had turned into a few more hours, and before he knew it, Tony had continued working into the early hours of the morning; he probably would have continued through to lunch if it hadn't been for the helpful mothering of his AI.

"_Sir, may I suggest that you join Miss Potts for a spot of breakfast?_"

"No you may not," Tony had responded dryly, twirling the hologram with a single spin of the finger. "Persuade me."

"_I believe there are waffles in the vicinity Sir_."

"What kind of waffles?"

"_Belgian if I am not mistaken_."

"I'm on it."

Emerging from his lair, he shielded his eyes from the natural daylight that blazed through the windows like a sickly vampire, lurking in the shadows as he strolled down the hall and towards the kitchen, following the promising scent of food like a curious hound with his nose in the air, sniffing inquisitively.

When he finally strolled through the doorway, the brunette was immediately struck by the delicious scent, gravitating towards the marble counter where he found his CEO leaning over its smooth surface, preparing a fresh pot of aromatic coffee.

With an air of stealth, Tony approached the lithe blonde and planted his hands on the edge of the worktop either side of her waist, peering nosily over her shoulder with a pair of striking hazel eyes.

"Give me the waffles and no one gets hurt," he declared humorously, gazing longingly at the plate, uncaring that he was being watched by several figures that occupied the kitchen table.

"Good morning Mr Stark," Pepper greeted with a small smile, pouring herself a mug of steaming coffee.

"Good morning Miss Potts. Did you sleep well?"

"Very well thank you, especially without you hogging the sheets. I suppose it's too much for me to hope that you got any rest."

"Of course I did! You know me, always sleeping…"

"Tony."

"Ok maybe I did, like, forty hours ago, but it's not a big deal-"

"I'll save the lecture for later," the blonde said, supressing a sigh, "preferably when there's no one around to hear me yelling profanity at you."

"Don't restrain yourself on our account," Romanoff insisted languidly, pouring a glass of juice, "we're all adults here."

"Don't tempt me," Pepper retorted coolly, glancing over her slender shoulder at Stark, his handsome face looking rather smug. "If I was your mother, I'd ground you and give you a curfew."

"I didn't know you were into role play," Tony said, elevating his brows suggestively. "If you're going to punish me, a good spanking will work just fine."

"Get a room," Clint demanded loosely, gagging through a mouthful of heavily buttered toast.

"Get a tower," Stark retorted wittily, watching as Steve's resolve began to crumble and he opted to burying his face in the newspaper he was trying to read, a desperate bid to avert his concentration and supress the light blush that began to tint his cheeks.

"So Mom," the engineer asked endearingly, "do I get breakfast now?"

"I'll consider it."

"Please? I'll even do my homework, and maybe later I'll tidy my room."

"Fine, you've twisted my arm, now go and sit at the table like a good boy."

"Yes dear," he replied, kissing her cheek and making a bid for the long table, taking a seat beside a dishevelled looking Bruce. "Where's the god of thunder today?" he asked, drumming his fingers idly on the table top.

"On a date with his dame- I mean, 'Lady Jane'," Steve supplied helpfully, putting his newspaper aside, "which is a good thing I suppose since we're out of pop tarts."

"He's gotten through four boxes this week," Bruce said in mild fascination. "For a god, he sure eats like one."

"This is getting expensive," Tony stated, thanking Pepper with a charming smile for the mug and plate that were set directly in front of him. "We're going to have to start charging rent, or alternatively get shares in the pop tarts company."

"No," Pepper said simply, clearly unimpressed by the suggestion.

"Or maybe not," he concluded, glancing over at the contents Steve's bowl with his eyes narrowed in obvious disapproval. "Muesli? Really Grandpa?"

"Some of us like to eat _real _food," the blonde replied defensively, looking at Tony's syrup drenched waffles in disgust.

"It looks like something swept out of a bird cage," Tony noted, "right Clint?"

"Do you want to eat that or wear it?" Barton asked bluntly, nursing a warm mug with both hands.

"Come on Cap, really, you should try some," the philanthropist nagged, "I insist."

"I'm fine, really."

As he began to consume his coffee, the engineer felt increasingly revitalised, his senses sharpening significantly and the dense haze of fog swamping his head starting to clear.

Although unaccustomed to the company, Stark pleasantly discovered that sharing table space with his colleagues wasn't so bad after all. Since their mouths were full, the usual bickering has been eradicated and replaced by the sound of a rare silence, or at least as silent as was at all possible in the thriving city of New York.

The brunette found himself contemplating his current predicament as the sweet taste of syrup began to flourish on his taste buds. A few years ago, if someone had told him that one day he'd be eating breakfast with a couple of deadly assassins, Bruce Banner, and Captain America, he would have probably blatantly laughed in their faces and responded with something along the lines of, "What have you been Drinking? Can I have some?"

Surveying the scene with a pair of curious brown orbs, Stark decided that the entire scene looked deceivingly innocent. Since the attack on New York some things had changed, while others had remained the same. Somewhere along the line, the billionaire had allowed his team mates to congregate in his tower. Months later, he was still very unsure as to what had prompted his sudden decision; a man known for making reckless choices, Tony was highly unpredictable, impossible to read, and frustratingly complex as an individual. People were accustomed to his eccentric behaviour, often turning a blind eye to it- this time, things were different.

Tony Stark had managed to surprise even himself.

As a philanthropist, it shouldn't have been surprising for the brunette to share his living space with other people- in fact, it should have made perfect sense, however these weren't just ordinary people. They were the Avengers, a team concocted of highly unique and skilled individuals that were the outcasts of society.

Sometimes he wondered, "What the hell was I thinking?"

Even a decision made for the right reason can be a bad choice- Stark wondered if this was one of those choices that he'd live to regret in a few years. At the time, he'd failed to take into account that they just didn't 'gel' well at all, or at least not collectively as a team.

He could only imagine what they thought, probably assuming that he was trying to flaunt his wealth or strengthen his image.

Sometimes, it truly felt as if Bruce was the only person that appreciated his hospitality. Over the past few months, a friendship had been formed between Banner and Stark, and they'd soon discovered that they had much more in common than their unfortunate privileges.

Often working within close proximity in the lab, Bruce somehow managed to retain an acceptable level of concentration throughout Stark's prodding, including the occasional prank. It was nice sometimes to have human company besides his artificial companions.

Gazing blankly into the swirling contents of his mug, the brunette was slightly embarrassed to admit that he was starting to miss his artificial children; it just wasn't the same without the bots making a heinous mess of his workspace.

He'd never spent this much time at the tower before the Avengers had moved in, because really, it didn't f_eel _like home, not like the mansion and the Californian air, not forgetting the breath taking view of the ocean from the broad windows. There was too much tension here, an unpleasant and constant density always present when he entered a room, thick and smothering like a haze of pollution.

He wished he could eradicate it permanently.

"Someone's thinking hard," Bruce uttered cheerfully, "careful, I think I'm starting to see smoke."

Tony averted his gaze from his coffee and glanced to the physicist sitting beside him, a detectable smile tugging at his lips.

"Speaking of smoke, did your chinos recover after you caught them on the Bunsen burner?"

"Spying on me again?"

"No," Tony replied, "not spying, more like… observing. I'll be honest- panic is a good look for you."

"Stark, fire isn't funny," Steve said firmly, blue eyes narrowed in obvious disapproval. "Doctor Banner could have been seriously injured."

Tony responded with a snort of amusement, unable to contain himself despite the glares he was receiving from various occupants of the table, laughter bubbling in his chest. Pepper remained seemingly unfazed by his behaviour, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

"Sorry," he wheezed finally. "Seriously Bruce, is your ass ok?"

"Fantastic, thanks for asking. The only thing I damaged was my pride- and the chinos. They happened to be one of my favourite pairs…"

"I'll buy you some new ones cupcake. I was thinking green to bring out the colour of your eyes-"

"Quite the comedian aren't you?" Clint piped up from the opposite end of the table, weary and disgruntled.

"Someone's in a good mood," the engineer retorted coolly. "What's the matter, got an arrow lodged somewhere Robin Hood?"

"It'll be lodged through your brain in a minute."

"Children, please," Pepper interjected calmly, "can we save the bickering for later?"

"He started it," Tony accused, pouting childishly.

"Well I'm finishing it. Now, eat your waffles, there's a good boy," she replied, ruffling his hair as the passed, approaching the marble counter and placing her dirty dishes on the draining board beside the sparkling sink.

"_Sir,_" Jarvis declared in a familiar British accented tone, "_the decorators have arrived and are in the lobby, awaiting your instructions._"

"Send them up and fill them in," he replied, "and make sure that they don't touch anything."

"Decorators?" Pepper asked, elevating a brow inquisitively. "What for?"

"There was a malfunction with the fire sprinkler system," he said casually. "Thought I better do something since the laminates starting to peel…."

"Interesting. Do these 'malfunctions' happen often?" Romanoff inquired, "Or only when you're in a sensitive mood?"

"They're _highly _unpredictable. Right Jarvis?"

"_Yes Sir. If I may, I think it would also be in your best interests to contact an electrician-_"

"Yeah… Remind me later. By the way, I was thinking that maybe you could call me Master from now on. It's got a better ring to it, don't you think?"

"_You forgot to say please Sir._"

"Bad boy Jarvis," Tony scolded. "Daddy didn't raise you that way! You better work on that attitude young man, or I'm putting you on mute."

"Daddy?" Steve scoffed, "really?"

"The thought of you having any offspring terrifies me," Bruce teased. "Can you imagine what they would look like? They'd all have the same facial hair and would be miniature sized and-"

"Absolutely gorgeous," Stark said confidently, "right Pep?"

"If you say so," Pepper replied, both hands submerged in a sink full of soapy water.

"Oh my god," the engineer exclaimed, feigning horror, "are you washing up? Coz that's what it looks like from over here."

"Yes, I'm washing up. Problem?"

"We have a dish washer for that, in case you didn't know."

"We're not all as dependant on technology as you," Steve said, pushing the blond strands of hair from his blue eyes. "I don't think this generation could survive a day without all their gadgets. Can you imagine? People would have to actually talk to each other, face to face and everything."

"I know," Bruce replied, "isn't it terrifying?"

Stark vacated his seat and stretched prominently in a feline fashion, wincing as a series of unpleasant cracks sounded from along the length of his spine. "Jarvis, what's my schedule like today?"

"_Rather empty, considering the fact that you asked me to clear it_."

"I did?" he asked, furrowing his brows as he attempted to discover the memory amongst the bustling archive of his thoughts, unable to recall anything of significance.

"_At precisely one twenty three this morning Sir_."

"So I did. Well, prepare for take-off baby. I'll be on the roof in ten- meet you there."

"Going somewhere?" Pepper asked curiously, glancing over her shoulder as Tony paced towards the counter with languid footsteps, an empty mug in hand.

"Gunna go check on the kids. You know, make sure we have a mansion left and stuff. I'd hate to find the whole place burned to the ground because Butterfingers left the stove on."

"Fly carefully now," she warned, reaching for the Stark Industries mug and placing it in the half filled sink, hands disappearing beneath the soapy water.

"Yes dear," Tony replied, kissing her promptly on the cheek. "I'll tell them you said hi."

"Will you be home for dinner?" Pepper inquired, although she had a feeling that she already knew the answer. She wondered why she'd even bothered to ask, still, it was worth a try, wasn't it?

"Can't make any promises- I'm working on a couple of things."

"Things?"

"Oh you know, boring kinds of things, like fixing the laser burn in the wall, and maybe finishing some plans for stuff."

"What kind of 'stuff'?" Romanoff asked in curiosity.

"The 'none of your business' kind of stuff," Stark declared firmly. Disappearing through the doorway, he waved a hand dismissively and bid them farewell with an "au Revoir."

"Kids?" Clint asked. "Am I missing something here?"

"The bots," Pepper supplied helpfully, displaying a significant smile.

"As in, robots?" Steve questioned inquisitively. For a man that owned some of the most advanced tech in the world, Rogers was hardly surprised when the CEO nodded in response. Somehow, he could imagine Stark working busily on his various projects, accompanied by a swarm of robotic assistants that obeyed his every command, programmed to follow every instruction.

"Although he doesn't like to admit it, I think he misses them sometimes," Pepper confessed. "Don't let him fool you. He's a softie really."

"I'll believe that when I see it- OW! Tasha!" Clint exclaimed as a heeled boot collided with his shin, certain to leave a lingering bruise in the morning.

"Don't mind him," Natasha said coolly, "he just woke up on the wrong side of the nest this morning, didn't you Barton?"

"Tweet freakin' tweet," the archer replied grumpily.

* * *

After descending the spiralling staircase, the brunette reached the last step and entered a lengthy eight digit code into the keypad that was mounted beside the glass door; leaning in close and gazing directly at the device, he used the newly installed retina scan, the green light piercing his vision before the door promptly slid open, allowing him to successfully enter his lair.

With a distinct clap, the lights came on, blinding him temporarily as the artificial glare illuminated the lengthy room, eradicating the bleak darkness that had consumed the silent workshop.

For a moment, everything was still and quiet, not a single sound to be head but the gently hum of the computer coming to life.

"Wake up guys, daddy's home!"

"_Welcome home Sir,_" Jarvis greeted politely, his familiar artificial tone echoing across the room. "_Did you have a pleasant flight?_"

"I think awesome is the word you're looking for," Tony responded enthusiastically, "though I think I fried a pigeon with the thrusters- probably one of Barton's cousins."

The bots stirred, emerging from the charging station with sluggish whirrs, as if they were being roused from a deep slumber. Dummy was the first to detect Tony's presence, cocking his head like a canine as he attempted to process the familiar looking figure lurking in the doorway.

Suddenly, with a mechanical whirr of excitement, the bot made an eager bid towards Stark, dashing across the shop floor as fast as his wheels would carry him- that was until he managed to snag himself on a wire.

"Jesus Christ!" the philanthropist exclaimed, making a dive for Dummy as the bot began to pitch forwards, colliding with the hard floor with an audible clang.

Wheels still spinning, the bot released a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dazed whine, registering the blend of concern and discontent that marred his creator's handsome face.

"I swear to god, if you've broken anything, it's coming out of your allowance!"

Carefully he righted Dummy, freeing him for a tangle of wires and surveying him for any obvious external damage. He glanced at the bot with an unimpressed frown, shaking his head from side to side as if he were scolding a young child. Dummy gazed back, lowering his claw in what could only be embarrassment.

"You goofball," Stark declared, raking a hand through his dishevelled hair and releasing a breath that he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. He didn't know what he'd do of something happened to his senior bot.

He wondered, was this what it felt like when parents watched their kids getting hurt?

Butterfingers and You approached him with a series of happy chirps, and soon the three robots had Tony cornered, fidgeting on their wheels and inching closer and closer. The billionaire was certain that if they were dogs, all three would have had their tails wagging simultaneously with joy.

"Okay, okay, nice to see you too- now back off a little would you? It's getting hard to breathe over here. Calm down or I'm taking you all offline for an hour!"

They obeyed, watching the engineer stroll across the shop and approach the first aid kit, disembowelling it of its contents.

"Jarvis, have they been good? Or will I be kicking their asses all the way to Asgard?"

"_As well as can be expected Sir_," the AI replied, "_although you may want to clean the kitchen before it becomes a potential health and safety hazard._"

"Why does that make me feel anxious all of a sudden? You know, I could have sworn that I told them to stay _out _of the kitchen- Dummy, come here," he commanded, beckoning him with his finger as he placed the kit back on the high shelf. The bot obeyed instantly, inching across the smooth floor of the ship as carefully as he could manage, attempting to avoid another tumble.

When Stark extended his hand, Dummy visibly flinched, recoiling his claw with a jerk.

"I'm not going to hit you, you moron. Just stay still for a second," the philanthropist stated, placing a small band aid on Dummy's side. "Make sure I check you over later, okay? And be more careful next time you dumb ass- you're getting fragile in your old age."

Tony strolled towards the kitchen area, his brown eyes narrowed in suspicion; his expression soon faded, replaced by utter disbelief as he surveyed the apparent mess that he was witnessing. Most noticeably was the wall and black marble counter, dripping and smeared with an unidentified substance that smelt suspiciously like some kind of sweet fruit; amidst the mayhem was the blender, lying prone on its side and almost void of its entire contents, the lid missing entirely.

The brunette prodded the device with a single finger, grimacing in disgust as he struggled to prise it from the sticky surface. Wiping his hand on his faded denim jeans, he tried so very hard not to notice the splattered interior of the microwave.

"Oh my god," he uttered bluntly, attempting with great difficulty to absorb the mess that was his kitchen. "Jarvis, please explain what happened to my lovely _clean_ kitchen."

"_I believe that Butterfingers was testing the durability of the blender and the microwave Sir._"

Glaring at the guilty bot, who was adamantly avoiding his gaze, the genius pointed and said in a clearly unimpressed tone, "you have thirty minutes to clean that up before I decide on a whim to toss you into the ocean."

Butterfingers released a low whir of remorse, wheeling over to the scene of the crime, claw lowered guiltily.

* * *

Forty six hours later, Stark was yet to return to the tower, lurking in the spacious haven of the mansion and feeling marginally better than he'd been for weeks. Despite this, things were far from perfect- the humid air made it almost impossible to sleep, and when he did finally manage to drift off, his dreams were riddled with nightmares.

Tony law sprawled across the enormous mattress, limbs tangled between the warm cotton sheets as he tossed and turned restlessly in his sleep, audibly protesting with a series of moans and faint whimpers as the memories began to surface in his dreams….

_A piercing screech begins to ring in his ears, grating through his eardrums like fine shards of glass, vibrating through his entire body like nothing he's ever experienced before._

_He wants to cover his ears, but discovers alarmingly that he can't._

_Tony begins to panic, knowing that there's nothing he can do to prevent it. He feels his heart drumming vigorously in the cavity of his shrapnel embedded chest, pounding in an erratic rhythm against what remains of his ribs after the reactor surgery. His breathing becomes stiff, and suddenly, he can feel his lungs starting to burn- his body's natural instinct is to hyperventilate in panic, yet he finds that he just can't._

_His lungs expand clumsily in his chest, his heart begins to jam, and he feels as if he's going to burst, because there's just not enough space to accommodate them alongside the large device embedded into his skin._

_Although he's never heard it before, he recognises that ghastly noise- a short term paralysis device._

_He can't move._

_He can't seem to fully comprehend just how terrifying that it is when your body is beyond your own control, out of your reach. If he could, he knew that he'd be trembling. _

_He knows this feeling intimately- fear._

_When Obi removes the glowing blue plugs from his ears, he rewards Stark with a genuine smile, a grin that makes the billionaires skin crawl all over. Then, something clamps down hard on his chest, and suddenly everything becomes hazy and distorted, time beginning to slow mockingly._

_Stane's talking; Tony can see his lips moving, yet he hears no sound._

_All he can do is feel as the bastard tugs the arc reactor from his chest like a dentist extracting a tooth, plucking it from the socket wall with a rewarding glimmer in his eyes._

_He wants to wreathe in agony at the surge of pain blossoming from the empty cavity, wants to yell in distress, beg and plead desperately, however the words are tangled in his throat, choking him uncomfortably._

_It was strange._

_He'd do anything to be rid of the miniaturised reactor, yet he felt agonisingly hollow inside- incomplete._

_Stane gazed into his eyes and proceeded to speak in a hushed tone, words tugging at the remnants of Tony's heart. He felt something shift inside of him, and prayed to god that it wasn't the shrapnel._

"_Your father helped us build the atomic bomb. What kind of a world would it be if he was as selfish as you?"_

_Selfish. _

_Perhaps his words held a degree of truth._

_It stung more than it should have. Tony Stark wasn't supposed to give a dime about what people thought of him, yet it still managed to strike a chord._

_He remembered Roger's words- "Always a way out..."_

"_Not this time Cap," he thought dismally, struggling for breath. It felt like his heart had been tugged ruthlessly from his chest with Obi's bare hands; the man was gone, and Tony was alone- going to die alone, his corpse discovered laying reclined on the large sofa, stone cold and wide eyed, an empty and gaping black hole in the centre of his torso._

_He felt empty, betrayed, cheated, and so very cold._

_The paralysis had passed, yet he couldn't summon the strength to move._

_He wasn't ready to leave the earth, with so much to prove and so much to fix; he was yet to leave his true mark on the world, no family, no legacy, and only a death toll to his name._

_Maybe he was selfish, and maybe a small part of him deserved to be punished, but he could put all of that behind him- he wanted desperately to live and witness Obidiah's demise with his own eyes, by his own hand._

_Suddenly, he couldn't breathe-_

Tony awoke with a startled gasp, feeling significantly disorientated and breathless, lungs heaving desperately as the room began to sway, craving oxygen as if he were a diver that had just broken the surface of the water.

In a haze of panic he clawed off his shirt, clamping a palm over the blue glare of the reactor to reassure himself that it was still there.

Vertigo beginning to subside, he surveyed the room in paranoia with a pair of darting hazel eyes, relieved to discover that it remained unoccupied, just as it had been when he'd drifted off to sleep.

He threw back the covers and dangled his legs over the edge of the mattress, elbows resting on his knees as he held his head in his shaking hands, the limbs convulsing wildly and wracking his entire body.

"_Sir-_"

"Not now Jarvis," he managed, regaining control of his breathing steadily.

"_Sir, I really must insist-_"

"I said not now!" he insisted, trying to convince himself more than the AI. "I just need a minute..."

* * *

Entering the master bedroom on the floor of his apartment, Stark padded barefoot across the plush carpet, approaching the strawberry blonde that was occupied at the dressing table, busy fussing with her long gorgeous hair and an open palette of powdered make up.

The petite CEO sported a stylish open backed dress which flaunted her astounding figure, the outfit accompanied by a pair of lethal dark heels and a matching clutch bag that resided on the floor beside her feet.

"Allow me," the billionaire insisted, watching as Pepper struggled with the clasp of an expensive looking necklace, the shimmering jewel matching the dainty studs in her ears. Glancing casually into the mirror, Tony flashed a charming smile at the blonde's reflection, his hazel eyed gaze wondering down to glance at her exposed throat, lingering at the sight of the alluring and exposed collar bone….

"You look… nice," he managed finally, settling his large hands on her bare shoulders.

"Thank you," she replied, glancing briefly at the engineers reflection in the mirror with a pair of exquisite blue eyes, his hands begining to wonder. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

"Going somewhere?"

"Yes, we are," Pepper confirmed, a smile tugging as her coral red lips. "I'm glad you asked."

"_We?_"

"Yes, we. As in us, _together_."

"I was looking at the necklace," Tony insisted, quickly averting his gaze when the blonde caught him attempting to retrieve a glimpse of her cleavage.

"Of course you were- and I suppose that hand just now was a mere figment of my imagination?"

"Exactly."

"I thought we could go out for a change," she declared, pursing her lips in the mirror before leaving her seat, strolling over to the enormous wardrobe, heels sinking into the thick carpet. "Before you start making excuses, I know that your schedules empty this evening. Jarvis told me."

The brunette muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'traitor', clearly aimed at his conniving AI.

"Going out as in, out-out?"

"Yes Mr Stark, _out_. There's a whole city outside of this tower you know. I'm sure you remember it."

Thrusting open the doors with enthusiasm, Pepper began to rummage through the vast collection of clothes, hurling various pieces of attire in Starks direction, the brunette attempting to catch them clumsily, narrowly avoiding taking a black leather belt to the cheek.

"Happy will be here in fifteen minutes," she said, glancing at the clock mounted high on the bedroom wall. "Don't be late! And don't forget to wear socks."

"I'm sure the paparazzi won't mind."

"Socks Tony."

"Yes Mom. Where are we going? Somewhere fancy? Come on Pep, don't leave me in suspense. You know surprises make me fidgety-"

"Go and get dressed, there's a good boy."

"Wanna help me?" The philanthropist asked cheekily, awarding the blonde with a playful wink.

Pepper responded by throwing him a pair of black socks, which collided with the side of his head rather nicely.

"I'll take that as a no then."

A short while later, Mr Stark and Miss Potts found themselves situated at a well-respected restaurant establishment that specialised in Italian cuisine, seated at a pristine looking table; the white cloth was laden with polished silver wear and two crystal glasses of bubbling champagne, in the centre a narrow vase was situated, containing a single rose void of its thorns, its ruby petals looking soft and delicate to the touch beneath the artificial glare of the lights and the romantic flickering candles.

When the billionaire dined out occasionally, the staff usually hovered irritatingly, going out of their way to ensure that he was thoroughly satisfied with the service.

That night was no different.

Fortunately, being Tony Stark had its perks.

The couple had no trouble securing a private table away from the prying eyes of the public and nosey paparazzi, situated in a peaceful environment which consisted of fancy music, lurking waitresses, and the aroma of delicious food.

The brunette had to admit, it had been a while since they'd both gone out for dinner, especially since they possessed such busy and conflicting schedules.

Despite the annoying and well-endowed waitress that kept rewarding him with bold winks and flirty smiles, it was nice. Tony couldn't think of a better way to spend the evening than with the gorgeous woman that he cherished so dearly- he wondered if he was becoming sappy in his old age.

Suddenly, the seductive waitress was lurking nearby again, wearing a tight looking uniform that clung snugly to her wide hips, the buttons on her blouse in danger of popping right off; Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her obvious ploy for attention, instead choosing to acknowledge her with a painfully false smile, quickly averting his inappropriate gaze.

"I think she likes you," Pepper stated in amusement, taking a sip of champagne as she narrowed her blue eyes significantly at the cheeky blonde.

"Or my wallet," Stark replied, "one of the two. Relax, she's not my type."

"And what exactly is 'your type'?" The CEO asked, placing her glass back onto the white cloth and proceeding to examine her manicured fingernails briefly before gazing glancing back at her other half, crossing her legs beneath the immaculate table.

"Not a gold digger for one thing- strawberry blonde, beautiful blue eyes, and a figure to die for."

"Anything else?" She pressed, elevating a single brow in curiosity.

"Not you mention it," he continued, "really magnificent-"

"I think I get the idea."

"I was going to say personality, _actually_."

As the pair began to converse, it was only then that they both realised that they hadn't spent any quality time with each other in a long while.

With Pepper running Stark Industries and Tony out saving the world with his superhero friends, most evenings they had little enthusiasm for venturing out for fine dining or attending flamboyant parties full of intoxicated celebrities that stumbled clumsily in and out of magnificent limousine's.

Although in the past he'd been partial to a party or two, Starks days of heavy celebratory drinking and playboy antics were long behind him, leaving more time in his schedule for tinkering with the suit and attending Steve's tediously bland meetings.

With the engineers persistent insomnia becoming a regular occurrence, Pepper tended to nag the stubborn philanthropist incessantly, insisting that he come to bed; eventually she would realise that there was no sense in fighting a losing battle and would utter a goodnight, slipping beneath the covers with an empty space gaping beside her. Little did the blonde know, she'd mistaken his reluctance for pure stubbornness, assuming that he was getting carried away with his toys in the workshop, unable to settle down for the night whilst his brain was still buzzing with ideas.

Tony only wished that it was as simple as that.

"So, team building hm?" Pepper asked, watching as Stark released a deflated sigh in response to the diversion that the conversation was taking. "Fury's idea?"

"Steve's, although I bet he had something to do with it. Probably getting revenge after that one time I called him a pirate…"

"You know, it might just do you some good to play with the other children for a change."

Stark plucked the glass from her hand, draining it of its remaining contents before questioning, "How many have you had? Just listen to yourself getting these crazy ideas…"

"Crazy? Me? I don't think so."

"You keep telling yourself that darling."

"It's not such a bad idea," Pepper said honestly, thanking the waiter as he re-filled her glass. "You'll all be thanking Steve when it's all over, I guarantee it."

"It's a disaster waiting to happen," Tony responded bluntly, "and when it does kick off, inevitably, I'll be sending Fury the bill. I'm not sure if the tower can handle a tantrum from the Hulk and a demi god."

"I never took you for the pessimistic type before," the CEO added. "What happened? Did they steal your lunch money?"

The brunette responded with a forced smile. "Can we talk about something else other than work? It's really killing the mood here. I'm sure you don't want to hear me ramble on about Captain spangley pants all evening."

"You never talk about the Avengers at all; can you blame me for being curious?"

"Pepper-"

"I just want to talk to you Tony."

"We are talking," Stark interjected, "see? My mouths moving and words are coming out-"

"I mean _real _talking," the blonde replied sharply, brows furrowing into a discontented frown. "When you've been out saving the world with your superhero friends, I always have to rely on the news because you never tell me anything! I shouldn't have to _pry_ information out of you. Do you know how that feels?"

"Just drop it Pepper!"

The pair elapsed into a brief silence, surrounded by the aroma of good cooking and the audible bustling of the restaurant staff, who were murmuring amongst themselves in considerate tones, clinking glasses and arranging the nearby tables with careful precision, subtly attempting to obtain a curious glance of the famous couple or even better, a snippet of conversation.

Tony inwardly cursed, guilt weighing heavily upon his chest as he observed the blondes wounded looking expression. He was already kicking himself for his inappropriate outburst, beginning to feel like the biggest ass on the planet as he restrained his lips from taking any further mouthfuls of bubbling champagne, deciding that intoxication would do nothing to improve his irritable behaviour.

"I'm sorry," he uttered honestly.

Aware of the prying eyes and ears, Pepper lowered her voice significantly as she addressed Stark, both concern and curiosity evident in her defeated looking expression.

"Did something happen?"

"No- It's nothing, I'm just-"

"It doesn't sound like nothing to me," Pepper replied; she extended her dainty hand and grasped hold of the engineers, giving the limb a reassuring squeeze, a gesture that clearly said 'I'm here to listen'. Tony smiled warmly in response, thumb caressing the soft skin of her hand in small circles.

"I'm just cranky," he stated languidly, lightening the tone significantly. "Cranky, tired, and maybe even slightly intoxicated."

Although she clearly wasn't buying any of it, the blonde didn't press the issue any further, choosing to let it drop for now.

The evening rolled on smoothly and the couple proceeded to enjoy a rare evening of privacy and peace, although nothing could diminish the apparent tension that lingered between them, entirely invisible although not unnoticed…

* * *

Entering the lab, Bruce was immediately struck by the incessant sound of piercing drilling, followed by an audible crash which was accompanied by a string of elaborate curses.

On the furthest side of the room was a dishevelled looking Stark, tool in hand and a pencil tucked snugly behind his ear, perched amongst a mass of various materials which included a colourful array of wires, several circuit boards, and a variety of scrap metal.

"This looks… chaotic," Banner noted once the drilling had ceased, surveying the scene with an intrigued stare. "Working on something?"

"A secret kind of something," the brunette replied, holding a screw between his teeth.

"Is this something going to take up a lot of space? Because I'm pretty sure that my desk used to be there."

"Details, details," Tony replied, wincing in disgust as he became aware of the way which his shirt clung to him like a second skin, in dire need of a shower, "all will be revealed eventually. I wouldn't come closer if I was you- I've got a pretty unique sweaty aroma going on over here."

"I'm sure I can handle it. Need any help?"

"Could you pass me that screwdriver next to your foot? Kinda got my hands full here- thanks."

It was only once Stark had raised his head that Banner was able to detect the obvious exhaustion that haunted his weary brown eyes, which were accompanied by dark crescent circles that marred his skin like mottled bruises, maintaining the illusion that his complexion was slightly paler than usual.

Occasionally, the philanthropist narrowed his eyes, biting hard on his lip in a subtle attempt to maintain concentration, and Bruce tried hard not to feel troubled by the fact that the man had some potentially dangerous tools within close proximity. The last thing he needed was for Tony to loose several fingers, as he wasn't sure that the cluttered lab could handle the consequences of a hulk out…

The team may have been oblivious to Iron Man's sleeping habits, however the physicist certainly recognised insomnia when he saw it. He'd experienced an unpleasant bout himself in the past, knowing first hand that it was far from pleasant feeling constantly drained, both mentally and physically.

Sleep disorders were capable of making people fall apart, and he could already tell that the billionaire was just about ready to surrender.

Bruce had been suspicious for a while- Stark was an independent and dedicated figure, often going through the early hours of the morning in order to ensure that things got finished. He was constantly juggling priorities, including the Avengers Initiative, Stark Industries, an often persistent S.H.I.E.L.D., and then there were his personal commitments, various projects he dedicated his time to such as developing the Iron Man suit, and then there was his relationship with Pepper.

Banner felt exhausted just thinking about it.

"You know Doc, something tells me that you're not here for a social visit."

"Always the perceptive one, aren't you?"

"Well it's to be expected with me being a genius and all- YIKES!" He exclaimed, narrowly avoiding plunging a drill through his own hand.

"Genius you say?"

"I'm working on it."

Stark placed the tool aside, running a calloused hand through his damp hair whilst Bruce proceeded to frown in disapproval, elevating a brow inquisitively when the engineer responded with a flimsy smile.

"You can quit looking at me like that," Tony said, extending his hand and proceeding to wiggle his digits. "I still have all my fingers, see?"

"Note to self," Bruce declared, "avoid Tony when he has tools in his hand- absolutely disastrous for stress levels."

"Making you nervous honey?"

"Not nervous," Bruce insisted, "just… edgy."

The philanthropist temporarily abandoned his project and got to his feet; he tried hard not to wince when his legs protested with several audible cracks as he made a bee line for the elaborate coffee machine, fully intent on ravishing his taste buds with a strong dose of caffeine.

"You have five minutes of my absolute and undivided attention," Tony claimed, fumbling blindly across the cluttered desk in search of his Stark Industries mug, retrieving it successfully and thrusting it promptly beneath the nozzle of the machine. "Better start now, my attention tends to wonder pretty quickly,"

"Steve wanted me to remind you that we have more team building this afternoon, and attendance is advisable unless you want to be on the receiving end of his star spangled boot."

Stark responded with an audible groan.

"He knew you'd be thrilled."

"And he sent you to deliver the good news because he knows that I can't say no to that face."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Yeah-No- I mean, maybe. Well, it was a small glass, but that's really not the point here. I say nice things occasionally," the billionaire insisted, clutching the warm mug with both hands as if he were dependant on the odorous substance.

"And which face would you be referring to? As far as I'm aware, I only have two- this one, and the green one."

"You remind me of a timid little puppy," Tony announced, resisting the urge to ruffle the physicist's brown and grey tinged hair in a playful manner. "Like a sappy golden retriever. Aw, come here, I just want to scratch you behind the ears!"

"In the gym, at four."

"Can't wait. Jarvis, where are those blueprints at?"

"_Cabinet to your left, third draw down Sir,_" the AI promptly replied.

"Fantastic. How am I doing for time?"

"_You have two hours, twenty six minutes, and sixteen seconds remaining until the scheduled event. Would you like me to prepare the shower Sir?_"

"Are you trying to say something Jarvis?"

"_Only that I am most fortunate not to possess a sense of smell._"

When Bruce displayed a smirk of amusement, Tony placed the mug aside and folded his arms across his chest, the bare skin clinging to the damp cotton of his dark shirt.

"Don't laugh," he advised the scientist, "you'll only encourage him."

"I'm starting to see his true colours now," Banner replied, attempting to organise the clutter of papers that concealed the length of the desk, retrieving the silver framed spectacles from his shirt pocket and perching them on the bridge of his nose in a swift motion. "I think he takes after his father."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Stark retorted, peering down at his perspiring form and grimacing in disgust. "Well, I'm going to take a shower and-"

"Take a nap," Bruce insisted, "you're starting to look a little peaky."

"Worried about me? That's cute."

"Sleep Tony."

"Later."

"Doctors' orders, I insist."

"I'll think about it."

* * *

It took every ounce of Tony's restraint not to immediately burst into laughter upon entering the echoing gym.

The Avengers were well and truly assembled, perched upon the benches like a class of children awaiting further instruction. Looming over them was Captain Rogers, an American football in his hand and a whistle hung around his neck on a vibrant red chord, resting against his white vest.

Surveying the bizarre scene, Stark decided that he was sorely reminded of gym class, and with his broad and muscular physique, Steve looked every inch the teacher.

"I'm sorry, am I in the wrong room?"

"Take a seat Stark," Barton commanded, "he's about to do roll call."

"Very funny," the blonde interjected with an unimpressed frown, "now quiet, or I'll make you do press ups."

"You're not serious," Clint uttered, gazing blankly at Rogers in disbelief.

"Oh, he's very serious," Romanoff replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. "So what's the plan Cap? Are we playing football today?"

"What is 'football'?" Thor asked, a puzzled expression dominating his features.

"It's a popular sport," Banner supplied helpfully, "where two teams compete against each other to score-"

"I think you lost him already," Tony interrupted, noting the vacant expression lingering on the God of Thunders face. "Got any sports on Asgard Point-break? You know, jousting, witch hunting, archery, maybe a little wrestling…"

"Hunting is most satisfying," the blonde declared in immense enthusiasm, his confused frown eradicated and replaced with a proud smile. "It is often the custom to retrieve a token for the one who holds your affections-"

"That sounds awfully… interesting," Rogers commented, for lack of a better word.

"I think 'morbid' is the word that you're looking for," Clint corrected.

"We don't do that here," Natasha insisted firmly, "so don't get any ideas, okay?"

"I can picture it now," Tony said in amusement, a broad grin of amusement etched across his face, "Thor on the cover of The New York Times with some poor villain's kidney in his hand-"

The Captain cleared his throat, aware of the several gazes being emitted in his direction as he began to toss the ball idly from hand to hand. "I need you all to form a circle," he said, which was greeted by complete silence, several blank looking faces glancing back at him in the silent gym.

"Please," he added, and eventually the team got reluctantly into formation, Steve approaching with a net that contained a wide variety of various sized sporting balls. There was the American football, a basketball, tennis ball, volley ball, baseball, and an ominous looking dodge ball lurking at the bottom of the bag.

"Today we'll be doing a stress demonstration," Rogers declared, immediately causing the rest of the team to glance _ever_ so subtly in Banners direction. The doctor pretended not to notice, choosing instead to awkwardly avert his gaze to the floor, examining his shoes uncomfortably.

"This should be right up your street," the engineer joked, rewarding the physicist with a friendly pat on the back.

"Hopefully," Steve continued, "this will show you all the effect of stress on productivity."

Bruce couldn't help but become aware of the elephant in the room which had suddenly appeared, wondering just how hard Rogers was trying not to make him feel singled out or like some kind of target.

"The aim, is to throw and catch the ball," the blonde said simply. "You have to pass the ball to each other in any direction, and each one represents a task or an objective. A dropped ball is a failed task, and a held ball is a delayed task. Gradually, I'm going to introduce more balls to the circle, and each one needs to be kept moving. Understood?"

"Are you kidding me?" Barton asked bluntly, frowning as Romanoff clouted him on the back of the head, causing him to nurse his aching crown with a scowl.

"He means yes," she said simply, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

"I understand Captain," Thor replied, "although I fail to see the point of such an exercise. We are hardly children-"

"Not sure if I can handle it," Tony uttered sarcastically, feeling almost degraded. "It sounds a little too complex for my brain to comprehend."

"Doctor Banner," Steve addressed politely, immediately arousing Banners suspicion, "I completely understand if you want to sit this one out-"

Stark began to laugh boisterously, the sound vibrating through the entirety of his chest and emerging from his lips, which were parted in a wide grin to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. For a brief moment he continued to giggle, that was until he realised that he was the only one laughing.

The billionaire detected the sudden shift in atmosphere, a thick fog of unease shrouding the occupants of the quiet gym, the air seemingly much denser than ever before; he took a few paces backwards and adjusted his position in the circle, the increased tension making such a simple gesture feel as though he was wading through treacle.

"Wait a second," Stark began, brown eyes narrowed significantly as he rewarded Steve with a rather hostile glare, "were you being serious?"

"I'm being cautious," the blonde replied defensively, matching the engineers gaze with a piercing blue eyed stare. "I'm thinking of everyone's safety. No offense Doctor Banner."

"Don't patronise him!" Tony exclaimed heatedly.

"It's ok Tony," Bruce assured him in a low voice, attempting to conceal his embarrassment as all eyes were upon him once more. The quiet physicist always disliked being in the centre of attention, and this particular occasion was no exception. He only hoped that he could nip this dispute in the bud before Starks anger became contagious, leading to potentially serious consequences.

"He's just being careful. I completely understand-"

"What he's doing is being an asshole," Tony claimed, folding his arms across his chest firmly. "You know Cap, I'm starting to think that you've got a problem with Bruce."

"Don't be absurd Stark," Natasha scolded, placing a hand on her hip. "Now calm down or we'll have a real problem on our hands."

"Maybe we should put him in time out," Clint suggested teasingly.

"Maybe you should mind your own business," the philanthropist retorted quickly, aware of the fact that his undesirable temper was beginning to flare.

"I should have known that it would come to this," Thor said in a monotonous voice, slightly entertained by the Midgardian's bickering. "You humans are incapable of lasting five minutes without resuming this futile quarrelling."

"From what I've heard, you Asgardians do most of the quarrelling with your weapons," Romanoff replied.

"You are most fortunate Lady Natasha. Most who have a bad word to say about Asgard find themselves pulverised by Mjölnir. I advise you not to test my patience."

"That's enough," Steve declared decisively, raising his voice significantly as he adopted a rather stern tone. "Is it too much for me to ask that we talk to each other like rational human beings? Believe it or not, we're not actually here to argue, so if we could please just continue from where we left off…"

"I never took you for the cowardly type," Tony said coolly, displaying an impressive air of confidence. The brunette was standing proudly with his arms folded, puffing out his reactor embedded chest as he craned his neck ever so slightly to meet Captain America's sharp blue eyed gaze, seemingly unfazed by the noticeable difference in stature. "Not like you to get cold feet Capsicle. Why don't you finish what you started instead of beating around the bush? You obviously need to get something off your chest- the same goes for the rest of you."

Clearly embarrassed, the poor physicist was unsure where to focus his attention, instead choosing to avert his gaze to an interesting blemish on the gym floor. "Look, I don't want to cause a scene here- I'll just go. It's not a big deal."

"What the hell is your problem Stark?" Barton asked Stark sourly, his brows furrowing in immense irritation as he confronted the billionaire, clearly disgruntled.

"I think you're on the wrong end of that question," Tony declared, his confidence unwavering.

From the very first moment that the Avengers had assembled, Banners placement on the team had caused a significant degree of unresolved tension. The Hulk had almost become a taboo topic of conversation, un-discussed yet clearly not forgotten as the detectable strain in the atmosphere could prove. It seemed that the team had developed an inaccurate conclusion that with Bruce, one was constantly treading on egg shells.

Anything that could be capable of causing stress or anger was avoided in the physicist's presence, including loud music and television, and any kind of heated discussion.

"Are you trying to start something?" Clint accused.

"What if I am?" the brunette retorted sharply, "you going to do anything about it?"

"This is ridiculous," Romanoff interjected sternly, placing a hand on her hip as she gazed disapprovingly at Stark, "and unnecessary. I advise you to stop before I'm tempted to use force."

"What was I thinking?" Bruce asked rhetorically, cursing the rest of the team to become silent as they listened eagerly to each and every word with profound interest, surprised at the physicists apparent calm and collected attitude, despite the heated circumstances. "I should have gone back to Calcutta while I had the chance."

"Bruce," Romanoff uttered, adopting a softer tone purposely to retain Banners composed state, "don't be so hard on yourself. It's not-"

"It was chaos, but it didn't matter," the brunette confessed, remembering the audible noise of heaving traffic and the overpopulated slums, bustling with people and ridden with poverty. "I was so busy treating the sick that I didn't have time to be angry, or think about anything- Then S.H.I.E.L.D. came along-"

"You had a choice," Natasha reminded, a little sharper than she'd intended.

"You had me _surrounded_," Banner retorted accusingly.

"That was a precaution in case things got a little… green," the red head admitted, trying with great difficulty to forget her terrifying first encounter with the Hulk. "You- the Hulk can't get injured by gunfire anyway."

"But you didn't know that then, did you?"

Bruce was no stranger to anger.

Throughout the bickering he'd tried desperately to remain as composed as possible, for the sake of the residents of New York and the impressive architecture that was the magnificent Stark Tower. Despite being a billionaire, he knew that Tony wouldn't appreciate having to refurbish again, particularly when the other guy already had a designated room of his own where he could smash to his angry green hearts content.

Just when the man thought that he had a lid on it, there was an unmistakable flicker of familiar green in his eyes that disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, yet still, there was no mistaking it. He could _feel_ it, and judging by the reaction of his team mates, Banner was certain that the minor occurrence hadn't remained entirely unnoticed.

He could see it in their faces and in their posture- tension, and tonnes of it.

He wondered if Natasha was aware of the way that her right hand ghosted over her hip, no doubt to locate a pistol hidden in the depths of her slim fitting attire should she suddenly have need of it.

While Clint seemed lost without his bow and arrows, the strain seemed to be taking its toll on Steve, who was beginning to look increasingly distraught on having lost his grasp on the situation as the strong and affirmative team leader. Although Thor seemed apparently unfazed by the occurrence, anyone could see in his eyes that he was prepared for conflict like a true warrior of Asgard, standing his ground proudly and confidently with his cascading golden hair and impressive physique of broad, rippling muscle.

"I should go," Bruce managed finally, piercing the daunting silence. His attention began to wonder increasingly as he focused on controlling his breathing in a steady rhythm, feeling at ease from the sense of control he was experiencing-in through the nose, and out through the mouth.

The physicist spun promptly on his heel with the intention of leaving as quickly as possible, heading for the safe retreat of his floor that was supposedly 'Hulk proof' according to its genius designer, although he had little intention of testing Stark's claim. There was a firm hand that grasped him by the arm, and glancing over his shoulder, Bruce wasn't surprised to find that it was none other than the philanthropist himself, who appeared to be sporting a hazel eyed glance of pure concern, not an ounce of fear in his eyes.

"Bruce-"

"I appreciate what you're trying to do Tony, I really do, but this was never going to work."

After making a swift exit, Banner was gone, leaving his teammates behind him.

For a moment the engineer stood there quietly, gazing hopelessly towards the doorway as if he had hoped that the man would saunter back into the room as if nothing had happened, displaying a cheerful smile.

"Jarvis?"

"_How can I be of assistance Sir?_"

"Make sure Bruce doesn't do anything stupid, like packing."

"_Am I to notify you if Doctor Banner tries to leave the building?_"

"He's not a prisoner Jarvis; well, that went well," the brunette announced sarcastically, averting his gaze towards the bulk of chiselled muscle that was the blonde super soldier, holding his head high while the tall Captain gazed down at him with a pair of shimmering blue eyes. "Tell me Cap, which brain cell of yours ever thought that this was ever going to be a good idea?"

"Don't try and blame Steve for this," Barton replied sharply, "it's not his fault that you're acting like a-" the archer paused, deciding that it would be better if he didn't finish the remainder of his sentence, although he highly doubted that anything could worsen the situation.

"A _what_?" Stark pressed impatiently. "Come on Barton, I can take it. I'm a big boy now."

"The Captain was only trying to consider our safety," Thor said, brows furrowing in discontent. "I do not understand the purpose of this meaningless quarrelling when he has done us no wrong."

"Look," Steve asserted finally, eyes filled with honesty, "it wasn't my intention to hurt anybody's feelings."

"It's ok Steve," Romanoff interjected, glaring venomously at Stark, who merely smirked in an amused response. "You don't have to explain yourself to anyone."

"Everything's always my fault, isn't it? I had no idea that I was becoming such an easy target these days-"

"_Stark_."

"_Rogers_," the billionaire mimicked the blondes tone in response.

"Now look here- I know we got off on a bad footing and we don't exactly see eye to eye, but there's no need to drag everyone else into this!"

"Don't you get it?" Stark questioned intensely. "This isn't about you Cap- it's all of you."

"Stark-" Clint began, quickly interrupted by an infuriated looking philanthropist, who continued to make is point irritably, pointing an accusing finger towards the other Avengers as he drawled on.

"Do you think that he doesn't notice the way that you look at him? It's insulting! He's got a lot more control than any of you give him credit for."

"Man of Iron," Thor addressed Stark in a monotonous voice, "we do not question Banners strength-"

"Not one of us is a match for the Hulk," Romanoff said truthfully. "Even the God of Thunder has a tough job keeping him in line."

"The big guy is part of the team too," Tony declared boldly, folding his arms across his chest, partially obscuring the glow of the arc reactor. "Maybe if you didn't treat him like some kind of rabid stray, he wouldn't try and throw you through a wall every time he transforms!"

"I understand what you're trying to say," Rogers replied, matching Starks equally intensive gaze, "but we've all seen what Hulk can do with our own eyes. He could seriously injure someone, even if it's not his intention."

"I'm done here," Tony stated in weary resignation. "Next time, do the guy a favour and stop treating him like glass."

Once done making a thoroughly dramatic exit, in true Stark style, the remaining Avengers lingered in the silent gym in contemplation before finally glancing to Rogers, searching for some kind of acknowledgement from their Captain.

The blonde in question released an audible sigh in defeat as he struggled for the appropriate response, gazing down upon the whistle strung on the red chord that hung around his neck solemnly.

"Avengers dismissed," Steve uttered at last, wondering dryly if it was too late to give S.H.I.E.L.D. a notice of his resignation.

"It's going to take a lot more that a bit of team building to get out of this one," Natasha replied, before adding, "no offense Cap."

"Aye," Thor said, nodding in agreement as he rolled his stiff shoulders languidly, brushing several strands of long golden hair from his eyes. "Perhaps a drink or two would ease our troubles."

"I couldn't agree more," Barton responded, rather satisfied by the suggestion of taking the edge off of things with a nice bottle of cold beer. He couldn't help but feel an ounce of sympathy for Steve, who unfortunately was unable to experience the benefits of intoxication. "Got a plan Cap? Fury's going to be pissed."

"Dismissed," Rogers replied simply, glaring irritably at the archer.


End file.
